Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
And since I failed, I grabbed my phone, calling the office.
"You have reached the offices of Quinton Baird & Associates. Jules is away from her desk right now. I pale in comparison, but can try to help you."
"Fuck's sake, Kai," I scoffed. "Are you seriously answering the phone like that?"
"Caller ID, man. Knew it was you. How is the job going? Heard you got snowed in at the cabin. Sounds romantic."
"It's a job," I insisted, maybe a bit too forcefully.
"I saw the picture in her file."
"Yeah, and?"
"And Ranger may have let it slip your, ah, innovative way of using full-body protection."
"She was cold."
"Mhmm," he agreed, sounding like he was rearranging the divider of office supplies - pens, brads, paperclips - on Jules's desk because when she got busy, the shit flew everywhere. And Kai, the poor fuck, liked making her life easier. I'd never get his unrequited shit. Or Jules's cluelessness about it. She was clueless about it too. I'd once heard Miller saying something about how much attention Kai pays to her, and Jules had insisted that he was just like that with everyone, that he was sweet, helpful, that it was nothing more than that. "So, are you in the Grand Ole' Ioway?"
"Ohio," I corrected. "Tomorrow is Iowa. How's everything going on that end?" I asked, knowing that someone there - likely either Quinn or Jules - was handling the paperwork since I couldn't do it on the road.
"According to Jules," he started, and I could just picture him picking up the file, leaning back in her chair, and kicking his feet up on her desk, something we all knew she hated, "the apartment options and PO Box are all set up. You'll just need to sign the lines and show her ID at the post office when you get there. Jules set her up a new email with her new name and sent her all the local job listings that sounded like she wouldn't hate them. She also emailed a list of all the local stores, eateries, and entertainment. She needs a raise," he said absentmindedly. "Jules, not the client," he clarified.
"She already makes three times what a receptionist makes," I reminded him, knowing what Quin paid everyone.
"Yeah, but she does the work of eight secretaries," he reasoned. And, as much as Jules and I weren't the best of friends, we could both acknowledge each others' worth. She handled a shitton of work in that office. Half the time, without having to be asked to do things. Quin had made a smart move when he'd hired her when she was barely more than a kid with no comparable work experience, wearing what had to be her mother's work clothes. But she'd proven her worth. Even I could admit that she handled my cases without a single slip-up. Though maybe a part of me wondered if she did so well because she didn't want to have to interact with me. I'd never had her call me about a case. Everything was done by email or text. Informal. So we didn't keep rubbing each other the wrong way.
"You ever gonna move on?" I asked.
"I don't see how it affects you," he shot back, not bothering to play coy. He knew that we all knew.
"What's gonna happen when that man of hers pops the question?" I asked, all of us knowing that was likely coming sooner rather than later.
"Nothing," he said, but there was a guardedness to his tone that you never heard there. "Nothing happens. I wish her the best."
"You're so fucked up," I said, smiling a little even though he couldn't see me.
"Coming from you, that is almost a compliment."
"Do me a favor, go out tonight and get yourself some pussy."
"Right, that's the cure," he said, sounding strained.
"In my experience, no matter the ill, pussy is always the cure. If your ass can learn to keep your heart out of it, that is."
"What's the point then?" he shot back. As he often would if you discussed something that he referred to as 'sport sex.' And, for the first time ever, the words actually did sink in.
What was the point?
An itch scratched?
How empty was that?
What the fuck was going on with me?
Why was I even thinking about this shit?
I didn't even have to really listen to hear the water in the bath splash around as Sloane moved, and I knew what was going on with me.
That woman naked in the other room.
Why?
That was the question.
All I could say was... something was different.
And that was all I would ever say.
Because in a few short days, she'd be gone.
I'd never see her again.
"What's up with you?" Kai asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"What do you mean?"
"You're distracted and want to... talk."
"I talk," I objected.
"You bark and growl and bitch about clients," he clarified.