Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
“What happened? Are you okay?”
Her eyes become wet before she admits, “They fired me.” She slings her eyes to the building she was forcibly removed from. “They fired me and gave him a massive payout like every million he earned them wasn’t a trade I recommended. I did all the work!”
The shock in my tone can’t be missed. “You’re a stockbroker?”
“Yes.” She groans before correcting, “No, not exactly. I’m an analyst for a stockbroking firm. He’s the broker.” Her shoulders slump as it takes everything she has not to cry. “Now I’ll never be able to buy him out. No one will lend me money if I don’t have a job.”
“I would.” The offer leaves my mouth before I can stop it.
I’m glad when my pledge burns off the droplets brimming her eyes. She’s still upset but far from bursting into tears. “I need more than two hundred and fifty dollars this time.”
“I could be open to a little more,” I reply before spinning her in the direction of the closest watering hole. We could both use a drink, and it’s finally ticked past noon. “How much are we talking?”
A brick lodges in my throat when she replies, “How do you feel about a three-million-dollar loan?”
She’s joking; her tone exposes this, not to mention the ease of her question, so I play along. “You’d want to cook damn good chilaquiles for that much coin.”
After straying my eyes to the third-floor apartment on my left, I sling them back to Kelsey, who is well past tipsy. We may have gotten a little eager during happy hour. It becomes more appropriate when you learn the theme of every cocktail was Christmas-based. My favorite was the candy cane cocktail. It was chocolatey, minty, and far better served when sampled out of Kelsey’s mouth instead of a glass.
“Are you sure this is your apartment? It looks empty.”
“That’s me.” Hiccup. “Emp…ty… So maybe we should get another cocktail?” When she slides out of the taxi at the end of her long slur, I toss a handful of the notes I recently replenished to the driver’s half of the cab, then help Kelsey to her feet.
The top two buttons of her stiff blouse were undone before she finished her first cocktail. Her skirt was hiked up her thighs somewhere between beverage three and four. I’m not exactly sure when she let her hair down. I am not even sure if her fingers unraveled the elastic or mine. We’d shared a handful of flirty kisses by then, but I have to put a stop to the antics now.
We’re alone, and as much as I’ve enjoyed her company the past eight hours, the kisses we shared were before her body clicked on to the fact our Christmassy drinks were laced with alcohol.
With every mile we traveled, the drunker she became.
She’s well past tipsy now, so I can’t touch her.
Not sexually, anyway.
“Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you?”
Kelsey’s eyes adopt the same puppy dog look they held when she realized her firing may not be so bad. She’s been wanting to go out on her own for some time, but her douchebag ex always talked her out of it before she gave it any true thought. “You’ll carry me?”
“If you can’t walk, yes.” I’d carry her even if she could walk, I’m just not known for showing my cards so early—if at all. “But you’ll need to return your skirt’s hem to its original position. We don’t want you flashing your panties to…” When I scan her street, the only person I spot is a charity Santa near the stop sign at the T-intersection. “Santa?”
My reply sounds like a question since the Santa ringing a golden bell resembles the other two Santas I’ve stumbled onto so far this week.
I’ve heard everyone has a doppelganger, but this is starting to get creepy.
Kelsey gulps and unrolls her skirt like Casey did every afternoon in high school before she walked through the door of our childhood home. “I don’t want to be on Santa’s naughty list.”
“It’s too late for that,” I reply with a chuckle before pulling her into my arms like a groom would a bride on their wedding night.
“Too many cocktails?”
I twist my lips so they’re not tempted to kiss her pout from her mouth. “That… and even more f-bombs.”
Her eyes pop open. “I didn’t cuss in front of Santa.”
She’s clearly forgotten that she taught me cuss words in Spanish while waiting for our taxi to arrive. Joder was the easiest for me to learn, and Kelsey used it multiple times while berating the security officers keeping company records property of the person who pays their wages.
“Santa travels across the globe in one night, so I’m reasonably sure he’d know Spanish.”
I grin like an idiot when she whispers, “Shit.”