Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
As she studies my face, her eyes narrow. “You don’t talk about love like that. Are you drunk?”
“Tipsy,” I snap back. “I feel a little tipsy, but I’m far from inbraided. No, I meant…that I’m not inbited. Dammit. I’m not inedbrided.”
The last word does not sound the way I intended. I must have missed a vowel or two in the pronunciation.
“You’re trying to say inebriated.” Molly pats my hand. “Which is a fancy word for drunk, and that’s what you are.”
She follows that up with a tap of her finger to the tip of my nose.
I try to swat her hand away, but I miss, which only serves to prove her point.
She lets out a giggle. “I’ve sobered up, Sin. It’s your turn now. I’ll grab you some coffee.”
“I have coffee at home,” I say. “Why don’t we go there? You can say hi to Dudley.”
The mention of my Yorkshire Terrier brings a broad smile to Molly’s face. “I haven’t seen Duds in forever. Let’s make a deal.”
I’m all for any deal that gets me out of here and away from Jameson as soon as possible.
My hand pops up. “Deal.”
Molly glances at it before taking it in hers to squeeze it. “You don’t know the deal yet, so we can’t shake on it.”
That’s the same damn rule she’s followed faithfully since we met.
I nod. “What’s the deal?”
“I need to see the first dance.” Her eyes light up. “It’s my favorite part of any wedding. I promise that after we watch them dance, we can leave.”
Guilt grabs ahold of me.
Molly is having a great time. She’s chatted up every person at our table and a few people who have wandered past.
Bribing her with the promise of time with my dog is selfish.
“I’ll stay for the first dance,” I assure her. “After that, I’m leaving, but you don’t have to go with me.”
She kisses the top of my hand before she releases it. “Friends don’t let friends wander the streets of Manhattan alone while they’re drunk.”
I bark out a laugh. “I wouldn’t be wandering anywhere. I’ll order a rideshare. That will take me straight home.”
Molly pushes back from the table. “That doesn’t work for me. We’ll leave together after the first dance. I’m getting you a cup of coffee. Don’t move.”
I glance toward where Jameson was sitting, but his chair is now empty.
I scan the room until I spot him standing next to a table less than twenty feet from where I am.
That’s too close for comfort, so I slide to my feet and head out to the terrace because I’m going to do everything in my power to avoid talking to Jameson tonight.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sinclair
I breathe in the cool evening air that has settled over the city.
Although I made it out to the terrace without wobbling, I know I had too much to drink tonight.
I skipped eating for most of the day in anticipation of the lavish meal I knew I’d be served here. That was an epic mistake since consuming that much champagne on an empty stomach was a recipe for the dizziness I’m experiencing now.
The lights of midtown Manhattan beckon my gaze, so I focus on them, drawing in a series of deep breaths meant to calm my thundering heart.
It’s been like that since Molly told me she spotted Jameson behind me.
During the past two years, I’ve spent a lot of time rehearsing what I’d say to him if I ever saw him again, but all of that has been chased away by the panic coursing through me.
Approaching footsteps behind me stall my breathing.
I close my eyes for a brief prayer that it’s Molly with a cup of coffee in her hand.
“Sinclair.”
The rich, deep baritone of that voice catches me by surprise. It shouldn’t. I’ve heard it before. For years, it brought me comfort. Forever it felt like the man who owned that voice was my safe place in a world filled with uncertainty around every corner.
I bow my head.
“Turn around, Sinclair.”
As much as I want to tell him no, I can’t form the word. My voice is caught behind a lump in my throat. It’s a knot born from all the warring emotions inside of me.
“Turn around,” Jameson repeats.
I swallow hard and manage to squeak out two words in a voice that doesn’t sound like mine. “Go away.”
His footsteps approach again.
The scent of cologne wafts in the night air around me.
Dammit, he smells so good.
“We need to talk,” he says in a low tone. “Turn around and talk to me. I deserve that much.”
The last four words puncture my heart.
He deserves that much?
He deserves nothing for abandoning me two years ago. He asked the impossible of me and then tossed me aside like trash when I wouldn’t agree to it.
I spin on my heel. “You deserve that much, Jameson?”
The words come out strong and defiant, but as soon as I catch sight of his face, I want to collapse to the ground.