Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Did she just blow me off? I throw my head back and laugh. This is going to be fun.
Yup, catching you is exactly what I look forward to doing. Have a great day, beautiful.
“Take that,” I say out loud in the elevator while the three other people I don’t know look over at me.
When I get to my floor I walk out and see Tara, the receptionist.
“Good morning, beautiful.” I smile at her. “Pepe from downstairs will be delivering three fruit baskets for all of you as a thank you for all the hard work everyone does.”
She crosses her hands on her desk, her smile lighting up. “Well, aren’t you the sweetest,” she purrs out.
“You know me.” I wink at her, walking toward Harvey’s office. I find him drinking his coffee while he reads something on the computer.
“I had the best night ever,” I tell Harvey as I throw myself into a chair facing his desk.
“Do tell.” He puts his cup down and turns to me. “We all live vicariously through you!”
“A gentleman never kisses and tells,” I say, fixing my tie. My eyes shoot up to his when I hear him laughing. “What?”
“Um. You are no gentleman. You not only kiss and tell, you show pictures and give details. Details, we don’t necessarily want.” He leans back in his chair.
“Well, not with this one. All I’m saying is I think someone swept me off my feet. Literally.” I’m about to continue when my phone rings and I see it’s my client.
“Sal,” I say into the phone, getting up and saluting Harvey while I walk out. “What’s going on?”
“I found another club I want to buy.” Sal is what you call a connoisseur of strippers and money. This will be his tenth club that he has bought in two years. He buys run-down clubs and brings them up to another level.
“How is this not a surprise?” I walk into my office. “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?” I ask him, thinking of our last conversation we had last week.
“I am and then this fell into my lap.” He laughs at his own joke. “I’m going to email you the specifics. Make it happen.” He hangs up without giving me a chance to answer him.
I scroll to my phone book, getting the florist’s number. I press call and then put it to my ear.
“Flowers Bloom in the Morning, Savannah speaking. How can I help you?” The owner’s voice answers on the second ring.
“Savannah, Noah here.”
“Oh, dear, what did you do now?” she asks me, knowing I only go to her in dire need.
“Actually, this time I’m the one who was wronged.” I breathe out. “She took what she wanted and left me,” I say, looking out the window at the sun, “like I was a piece of meat.”
“You don’t say,” Savannah says like she is impressed.
“So I’d like to send her ten dozen roses. All pink. A dozen every hour.” I look at my watch, seeing that it’ll be way past closing time. “Actually, two dozen every hour.”
“Hold on, let me get this straight,” Savannah says. “She used you, you are the wronged party, and yet you’re sending her flowers? Has hell frozen over?” She laughs out loud.
“Don’t know what it is about her, but I want to let her know I’m still thinking about her.” I smile, picturing her face when she gets the flowers.
“I have your credit card on file. I’ll send them in a bit,” she says, disconnecting as soon as I give her the address.
I place my phone down and start my day. I check my emails and messages, and by the time I look around, it’s two hours later. I’ve gotten Sal’s proposal all ready. I just pressed send on the email when my phone beeps next to me.
Oh my, thank you for the flowers, they are beautiful
I smile, knowing that I got her.
Not as beautiful as you. Have dinner with me? Actual food.
Her reply comes right away.
Sorry. I have plans, maybe another time.
She has plans. What fucking plans?
See you later.
I get up, making my way out of the office. Walking past the receptionist, I tell her I’ll be out most of the day. Once I get home, I go straight to my closet. What does one wear on a stake-out? Should I go full black or should I do camo?
Picking up my phone, I call the only person who would be able to answer all these question. John. My other best friend, Austin’s business partner.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I ask once he picks up.
“Having lunch with Austin while he stares at Lauren’s desk.” He starts laughing at the groaning that is coming from Austin.
“You need to just ask her out and end this dry spell. Jesus, your dick must think you died at this point,” I tell them as I toss clothes on my bed. “I have a serious matter,” I finally say when I toss my old black Doc Martens that I bought in high school when I went as a punk rocker. “I need to go on a stake-out. Should I go all black or camo?”