Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
It cut me to the bone.
A few moments later, he replies.
I’m not afraid of Xavier goddamned Arrendell. He won’t hurt me. I won’t let him hurt you. But if you’re that afraid, no. I won’t hate you if you back out. Don’t push yourself too hard, Talia. It’s okay. The choice is always yours.
I actually believe him.
I believe he won’t hold a grudge if I quit. If I chicken out.
Trouble is, I’d hate myself plenty to make up for it.
I’ve spent my entire life trying to be more than the weak, sickly girl, haven’t I?
Now, the second I’m put to the test, I want to hide?
Hell no.
It’s not pushing, I answer, then take a selfie, cringing at the camera and wincing as I tap Send. But look at me. Like I said, circus clown. I’m in no shape to dazzle anyone, much less pull anything over on him.
Micah: Tell me one thing, woman.
I wait while he types with my breath stalled.
Micah: Why the hell are you trying to be anything besides your own gorgeous self?
I gasp.
The man knows how to hit hard, not mincing words. He’s also annoyingly right.
…I guess I’m trying to be the type of girl Xavier would find appealing.
Micah: Talia Grey is appealing as hell. Just be comfortable. Be you. The more real you are, the more natural you’ll be around him.
He’s right again, but I’m stuck on one thing, trying not to grin like an idiot.
Talia Grey is appealing as hell.
I stare down at my phone, biting my lower lip so hard it hurts, but I hardly notice.
He can’t mean that the way it sounds, can he?
Before I can figure out what to say back, he texts again.
Micah: Besides, you’re less Ronald McDonald and more Raggedy Ann.
Oh, thanks. Such an upgrade, I text back, but I can’t help laughing, the tension relaxing a little.
Micah just has this way.
Somehow, he makes me feel better with the smallest things, and I don’t think he realizes it. He’s such a quiet man, but he speaks with certainty—and when he really unsheathes himself, there’s this steady, unwavering conviction in every word.
Micah: Raggedy Ann’s cuter. You feel better now?
I am. I’m going to be a little late to meet Xavier, but I think I can get myself together and out the door.
Micah: No need. That’s not why I was asking.
I smile, running my thumb along the edge of my phone. I know. But I want to do this anyway. I’ll text you when I get there.
Micah: If I don’t hear from you in three hours, I’m coming after you.
My eyes widen.
Three hours? What if I’m working there all day?
Micah: Check in. Let me know you’re safe.
There it is again.
He’s so adamant, despite the fact that he’s a silent sentinel. It’s all part of what makes him so—
So Micah.
I will, I promise. Then I put my phone down and try to make myself as presentable as possible.
It’s easier to think with Micah’s concern and protective fierceness buoying me. I take another quick shower, washing my hair again and scrubbing my botched makeup off, then towel dry my hair.
I redo my makeup—forgetting the foundation this time and just going for natural accents. A soft-pink lip gloss and subtle touches of rose along the creases of my eyelids, accented by a little liner and mascara, should do the trick.
Since there’s no salvaging my skirt and I don’t have another pair of pantyhose, I go for my nicest jeans and strappy sandals, paired with a loose, fluttery blouse in pale shell pink. Depending how I move it, I can skew it to one side and turn it into an off-the-shoulder blouse or rise up enough to become a crop top, even if it only shows an inch of flesh. I finish off the look with a patterned scarf in light-rose shades, knotted loosely against my neck so that the ends trail to one side and fall down my chest and back.
Casual. A little flirty, but not too much.
Stylish enough to pass for casual-professional chic even if it doesn’t dress up enough for real business casual.
Since Xavier’s giving me a tour today, I can say I dressed for the job. That house is fricking enormous, and I’d be ready to collapse trying to handle that hike in a pencil skirt and pumps.
I look cute, though.
And I kind of wish it wasn’t Xavier I was getting dressed up for.
No.
No way.
I’m still riding that high, romanticizing Micah as my very own vampire man.
Really, I’m just a useful tool to him. An unlikely partner, if I’m being generous.
All of that growly business by text about protecting me, coming for me, that’s just him guarding his investment in this weird little spy mission.
So I take a deep breath, check myself over one more time, and peek inside my folio to make sure I’ve got my work stuff before tumbling out of my room with my damp hair swaying against my shoulders. It’ll finish drying on the walk up the hill.