Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
And if it is, what do I do then?
How many of my cousin’s other stories are fiction? Do I know her at all?
Did Vivian really start a kitten rescue program in the basement of her first New York City apartment or dance in a flash mob in Central Park? Maybe she didn’t model for a Japanese candy company when she spent a semester abroad, find an ancient coin on a beach in Croatia, or sleep with the lead singer of Def Leppard.
Though, honestly, that last one would be a relief.
Joe Elliott seems like a nice enough guy, but he’s old enough to be her grandfather, and I’m pretty sure he was married at the time of the alleged fornication.
You’re missing the most important part, doofus. If she lied about the cat, she probably lied about Leo, too. Maybe he isn’t a horrible human! Maybe he’s a perfectly innocent—and ridiculously sexy—man who happened to be the victim of a sociopath’s smear campaign.
“Wouldn’t matter,” I mutter on the elevator up to the third floor of Leo’s adorable Hell’s Kitchen brownstone.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say, flashing a tight smile. “Just thinking about Vivian. Even if she is a liar, she’s still my cousin.”
And you share cookies and holiday sweaters with your cousin, not penises, I add silently. Even if she lied about Leo, that does nothing to shift his “off-limits” status.
“Of course,” Leo says, as the elevator door slides open. “I’m not suggesting you kick her out of the family, but you should use caution moving forward. Trust is a precious thing. It shouldn’t be given to people who don’t deserve it.”
I hum beneath my breath as I follow him into the hall.
He glances over his shoulder. “You disagree?”
I shake my head. “No, but…” I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I’d rather trust someone who possibly doesn’t deserve it than constantly be on guard against people pulling the wool over my eyes. I don’t want to be a cynic.”
“You could be a skeptic. Nothing wrong with that.”
“I guess, but I’m already battling existential dread. I don’t want to lose faith in my fellow man on top of it.”
Leo pauses at his door, studying me as he pulls his key from his pocket. “Why the existential dread?”
I laugh, a little uncomfortably, but find myself offering an honest answer, anyway. He deserves some truth after what Vivian might have put him through.
And he’s just easy to talk to.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Wondering what the point is, I guess. I mean, I love my family and friends and take pride in my work, but…it feels like there should be more to life than going to the inn and coming home and hoping for something to break the monotony on my days off.”
He grunts. “More to life than feeding the capitalist machine for forty years, only to retire when you’re too old to sleep without pain, let alone make art or love or find your purpose?”
Something flutters in my chest, a moth drawing closer to a flame. “Yes, exactly.”
Purpose. Yes. That’s exactly what I want. I want a bigger purpose than keeping my guests happy. Or maybe just a different purpose, one that feels more authentic to me at this point in my life.
But I’m not ready to share all of that with Leo, no matter how trustworthy he seems. We have a cat mystery to solve before I let any more of my walls down with this man.
“Though my grandmother sleeps great since she got her medical marijuana card,” I add, ending the conversation with a tight smile.
“Weed is medicine,” he says, starting to push the door open, but stopping at the last moment. “I would suggest we smoke some before you meet Greg—it might take the edge off how unforgivably rude I’m sure he’s going to be—but I don’t go to the set impaired. And you look like the kind of girl who can’t handle her cannabis.”
I frown, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You look sweet and wholesome and like half a glass of champagne would have you napping in a corner at a party,” he says with a warmth that makes me think he finds my wholesomeness charming.
“I can handle two glasses, thank you. Three, if I space them out.” My cheeks heat as I confess, “But I’ve actually never tried weed, so I don’t know about that. I got close to accidentally eating one of Gran’s special cookies once, but she smacked my hand away just in time.”
He hums. “A good girl. As I suspected.”
“Not that good,” I murmur in a flirty tone that instantly makes me blush harder.
But damn it, I’m not that wholesome. And a wicked part of me wants Leo to know it…
“Noted.” His eyes glitter, but he’s a more disciplined person than I am. There isn’t a hint of flirtation in his tone as he adds, “All right, gird your loins, Caroline. You’re about to enter the realm of Greg ‘Satan’ Fluffy Stuff, destroyer of hope, devourer of souls. When the void screams, it screams into Greg’s cold, dead eyes, and he never screams back.”