Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
I pressed the buzzer after a long pause. “I’ll be down in a few.”
“I need to use your bathroom.”
“No!”
“It’s either that or find an alley somewhere.”
“Get looking for an alley.” I released the intercom button and went to get dressed. From the other room, I heard his voice reply in the distance, but I couldn’t make out what he’d said. It didn’t matter. He was most certainly not coming up to my apartment.
By nature, I was a people pleaser. So without thinking, I rushed to get dressed so I wouldn’t keep the driver and Gray waiting. When I caught myself, I slowed down, spending a few extra minutes fixing my hair and adding another coat of mascara. But that only made me more annoyed with myself, because I felt like I was putting extra effort into my appearance for my travel companion.
I needed to stop overthinking and treat Gray like any other client.
I loaded my bag with the few files I had, added some legal pads and pens, and took a deep breath before heading downstairs. Gray stood just outside the front door of my building, leaning against the railing.
“Find an alley?” I snipped.
“Nope. Thought better of it. I’m out on probation. Getting tossed back inside for indecent exposure isn’t in my plans.”
“There’s a coffee shop at the corner.”
“Tried. Owner said it was out of order.”
I rolled my eyes and groaned before turning to go back upstairs. “Come on. Bathroom only.”
In the elevator, I stared straight ahead, even when I caught his eyes on me through my peripheral vision. Although, staring at the shiny silver doors that reflected back almost as well as a mirror didn’t do much to help me avoid looking at Gray. He was dressed in a Brioni custom-fit, five-thousand-dollar suit, and the tailor had done one hell of a job. It showed off his slim waist, hugged his broad shoulders, and made him look effortlessly elegant. Some women liked a bad boy look—all James Dean in a leather jacket. But a well-fitted suit pushed every one of my hot buttons.
Admiring the package presented before me almost made me forget his true colors. Almost.
The doors slid open, and I rushed out of the car, anxious to breathe air that wasn’t shared with Gray Westbrook. Unlocking my apartment, I held the door open and pointed.
“Down the hall, first door on the right. No lingering.”
I wrenched my gaze away from him as he walked, not wanting to notice that the tailor had done as good of a job on the back as he had the front.
While I waited impatiently, holding the front door open, a cell phone rang from somewhere. I glanced around the kitchen before realizing it was coming from the bathroom.
A few minutes later, Gray strode down the hall. The ringing started again as he reached where I stood at the door. He slipped his phone from his pocket and held up one finger.
“What’s up?” he answered. “Is everything okay?”
He sounded concerned. Through the receiver, I heard a woman talking, but I couldn’t make out what she said. So I listened to one side of the conversation.
“I’m never too busy for you. What’s going on?”
His eyes shut as the woman spoke again.
“Are you hurt? What happened?”
The anxiety in his voice settled in my chest as he listened again.
He dragged a hand through his hair. “Who was driving?”
Another pause.
Gray shook his head. “Where are you? Are the police there yet?”
More muffled sounds through the phone.
“I’ll be right there. Don’t talk to anyone, Etta. Not a word.”
He swiped to end the call and looked up at me. “Change of plans.”
“What happened?”
“A family friend had an accident. She’s seventy-seven and had her license taken away last year by the doctor. She still drives anyway. I need to get to Queens.”
“Let’s go.”
***
Gray stared off out the window as we made our way to Queens.
“Everything is going to be okay. They’ll just give her a ticket for driving without a license.”
He nodded.
“What’s her name? Did you say Etta? I remember you mentioning her a few times.”
“Short for Henrietta. But don’t call her that. She hates it. Etta might be in her seventies, but she’s still scary as shit.”
I started to laugh until I realized he wasn’t joking. “Who is she?”
“She was my dad’s housekeeper for almost thirty-five years. When I was little, she used to watch me, too—basically raised me since my father was never around.”
“Oh. Wow. And she lives in Queens?”
“Yeah. In one of the rental buildings my father owned. He didn’t do right by most women, but he took care of Etta.”
Two police cars were parked diagonally in the street, surrounding the accident when we pulled up. EMTs lifted an older gentleman on a stretcher into the back of an ambulance.
Gray jumped out of the car almost before we came to a full stop and ran right over to Etta’s car. I followed behind as fast as I could. The driver’s side door was open, and she sat behind the wheel with her legs sticking out of the car. An officer stood next to her, writing something in his little notepad.