Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
“The door was open,” Jack interrupts, his thin mouth pulling up in a slow smile, revealing his slightly yellowed teeth.
Jack is a twenty-seven-year-old divorcee who recently inherited the apartment building where I stay from his mother. He doesn’t stay in the apartment building but sometimes comes around for maintenance checks.
There is an eeriness about him that always puts me on edge every time.
Or maybe it’s because I once heard Mrs. Albert, one of the tenants, telling her friend that Jack was once a druggie and convicted for rape, too.
Anyway, I’ve always done my best to avoid him.
I glance at my lock again, my brows pulling up in a slight frown of confusion.
I could have sworn that I locked the door. But how did Jack come into my room then? I raise my eyes to Jack’s again, swallowing nervously.
“Wh... What do you want?” I ask again.
“I was going around for maintenance checks, and I saw that your door was open,” Jack replies with a slight shrug. “I was worried. Do you need anything repaired?”
I quickly shake my head. “No. No... I don’t need anything.”
Please, leave!
Jack nods, slowly looking around my room as if he has all the time in the world.
His gaze returns to mine, his smirk widening creepily. “You shouldn’t leave your door open like that. You never know what kind of danger lurks in the dark.”
I shiver slightly at the insinuating undertone in his voice. “Th...thank you,” I mutter, lowering my eyes from his.
Jack nods and heads out the door, but not before throwing one last meaningful glance over his shoulder.
I quickly bolt the door behind him, placing my hand against my chest to regulate my heartbeat.
I sag weakly against the door behind me, my shampoo bottle hanging limply between my fingers.
What the hell just happened?
CHAPTER TWO
Abram
“What do you mean a heart attack, Doc? He’s not even fifty!”
I open my eyes to the panicked voice of June Barley, my long-time friend, and personal secretary.
My throat feels parched, and my body feels like it weighs a ton.
I turn my head to see June and a doctor standing a few feet away from my hospital bed. June is wringing her hands, frowning up at the doctor. He’s trying his best to explain the situation to her.
Tendrils of her honey-colored hair fall messily across her pretty round face, and her usually neat ponytail is in a hazardous condition, an indication of her being distraught.
She suddenly looks eons older than her thirty-two years of age. I feel my chest tighten with a pang of guilt as I watch her bite her lower lip in worry.
“You make it sound like forty-nine is any different from fifty,” I say lightly, drawing the attention of both of them.
“Abram!” June cries, walking over to my bedside in hurried steps. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been asleep for too long,” I reply through the dryness in my throat. “What the hell happened to me?”
“You slumped over in the middle of a meeting, dummy,” June replies in a high-pitched voice, her brows still pulled together in a worried expression. “You work too hard, Abram.”
I drape an arm lazily over my eyes to avoid her pointed gaze. “You nag too loud, June,” I mutter.
“How do you feel, Mr. Harden?” the doctor asks, finally stepping forward.
I lower my arm to give the middle-aged man a reassuring smile. “I feel like I just woke up from a long nap after having been pumped with loads of strong meds. Can I have some water, please?”
June quickly retrieves a plastic cup from the bedside table and wordlessly holds it out to me.
I sit up slowly, supporting my weight against the headboard. June leans over to plop pillows behind me, fussing until I smile up at her in satisfaction.
One would think she’s my wife.
“Thanks, June,” I say with a slight teasing wink.
June rolls her eyes at me in exasperation, but it warms my heart to see a ghost of a smile on her lips. I must have given her quite a scare.
The same way she worries about me, I worry about her, too.
And although I don’t show that emotion often, June knows me like the palm of her hand.
To the world, I’m a cold-hearted yet genius artist. Some blogs have described me as a ruthless businessman.
I play my part too well. I don’t care much for things that aren’t of any benefit to me, including people.
I am surrounded by people who want to associate with me because of the things that I can offer them. Therefore I close my heart to them all and deal with them in accordance with their usefulness to me.
There used to be a time when I craved validation so badly, but that was a long time ago.
But things are different with June. With her, I can take off the mask and be myself. There aren’t any expectations or condemnations. She genuinely cares for me and my career.