Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I look up to the sky. I left that hotel room for a reason. Problem is, I don’t know what that reason was. I was out of there like a shot, my instinct kicking in and backing me up. It would be easy to accept if there was nothing there for me – no spark, no connection, no chemistry. But there was a spark. There was chemistry. There was a deep, inexplicable connection. And it scared me. It’s the only explanation for me running.
‘Get . . . a . . . fucking . . . grip . . . woman,’ I say slowly, slapping the ball of my palm into my forehead. Leaving before he woke was the best decision. No morning awkwardness. No wondering what comes next. Simple. So why my mind is trying to make this a tattered mess of complication is beyond me.
I need to stop with this silly obsessing, because no man that gifted and gorgeous can be good for a woman. That’s why I ran.
I make my way back into my flat and nip to the loo to check my face, brushing at my cheeks. I still look flushed. Fucked, even. Shaking my head, I go to grab my bag from the bed to get my phone, my searching fingers faltering when I lay my hand on something else. I pull out my hand and stare at the Budweiser bottle top lying in the centre of my palm.
Something to remember him by.
Last night really will go down in history. My history. It was a night to remember, and I’m sad that that’s now all I have to remember him by. Memories. And a bottle cap.
Chapter 5
The week has flown by, work swallowing up all my time, but I’ve managed to catch up with Micky for lunch, and Lizzy for dinner. Micky was how I expected him to be: blasé about the weekend’s events between him and Lizzy. I met Lizzy the next day hoping to find the same reaction. She rolled her eyes at the mention of it, her regret clear. ‘Trust me, it was a mindless screw with a mate,’ she said. ‘I’ve already forgotten about it.’
I wish I could convince myself to do the same about Jack. Forget about it. But his damn face just keeps popping into my mind, along with every other gorgeous piece of him. It’s like he’s branded himself on my brain. I’m being tormented daily by him and memories of that night – a night that I have no hope of forgetting. Reliving it all is both frustrating and thrilling. My body still aches, now more deliciously, rather than the initial deep wince-worthy ache. Soon, all physical evidence of my encounter with Jack will be gone. Yet I know the memories will still be as fresh as they were the next morning. It’s Friday, for God’s sake! Nearly a whole week. When will he fuck off out of my head?
‘I love this,’ Colin Pine says, looking over the revised drawing of the front elevation of his new gallery. He’s a studious man, his life revolving around art, creating it and filling his creative mind with as much information as he can get. His nose is constantly buried in some kind of textbook, magazine or cultural article. ‘And you think the planning department will pass it?’ he asks, looking at me as he pushes his spectacles up his nose.
I put my coffee down and smile. ‘The regulations stipulate the frontage being in keeping with the street and area.’ I point to the drawing and to the sash windows. ‘We’re not really changing all that much on the front, and given the building is currently derelict, anything is an improvement.’
Colin laughs. ‘You’d think the council would be thankful someone is finally renovating the place, instead of enforcing their red tape. It’s an eyesore.’
‘I agree, and that’s probably why they’ve passed these plans.’
He looks at me, shocked. ‘They’ve passed them?’
I smile. ‘After the two rejected submissions, I went down to the offices to pin the planning officer down. These right here are a yes.’
‘Finally!’ he chants, clapping his hands.
‘And this roof in the back will be what sets it apart from all other galleries.’
‘I agree.’ He sighs, shaking his head in despair. ‘But the cost, Annie.’
I smile to myself. I knew the potential cost would be an issue. Which is why I’ve been digging. ‘I have a proposal.’
‘Which is what?’
‘I know of these guys based in France, and I made a quick call. They have estimated roughly half the price of the British manufacturer, keeping us right on track with the budget.’ My excitement is hardly containable. ‘My only concern is getting it from France to Dover intact.’
‘A good haulage firm will do the job, right?’
‘I hope so, because if it’s damaged when it arrives on site, the schedule will go down the pan and your contractors won’t be happy about it. Neither will you, I expect, since we’re working to a tight schedule for your launch evening.’