Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
“I’ll go as far as three million but not a penny more.” Then I pull out the facts. “There are thirty-one houses in this area going from two million to three million.”
“Let me go make a call,” he says, going to the steps and the upstairs loft. I look at Viktor who just shakes his head.
“What?” I ask him.
“You just bamboozled him, and he had no chance in hell,” he says quietly, shaking his head.
“I didn’t bamboozle him. I gave him an offer,” I tell him. “And in the end, I saved you two hundred and fifty thousand,” I tell him, and I hear steps coming back.
“Okay. Three million final and they can be out in two weeks,” George says, and I smile, looking at Viktor who just looks at me.
“Congrats, Viktor.” I look over at him with a huge smile on my face. “Welcome home.” I look over at George and tell him to send over the contracts, and when I walk out of the place, I am beaming with happiness for him.
“I’m starving,” he says, looking at me.
“Want to grab lunch?” I say, looking at my watch. “Late lunch, early dinner.”
“Sure,” he says. His phone beeps, and he starts typing. I point out the restaurant at the corner, and we are seated right away when we walk in.
“Your server, Josh, will be here shortly.”
“Thank you,” I say to her while I grab the menu she holds out for me. “I’m starving,” I say to him while I look down at the menu.
“Did you have breakfast or lunch?” he asks me while he reads his own menu.
“No,” I answer. “I started putting a bagel in the toaster, but then my phone started ringing and one thing led to another.” I look up. “That bagel is now cold and toasted.” The waiter comes over to take our drink order and tells us the special of the day.
“I have a question to ask, and I don’t want to offend you,” I say, and he just looks up at me. His blue eyes not showing anything. “Would you be offended if I got a glass of wine?”
“I thought you gave up wine,” he starts, and then I shrug. “But the answer is no,” he says. “I am not an alcoholic. I’m a drug addict.” My heart stays in my throat when he says that, but I try not to show any reaction. “It’s not anything that’s a secret. The joys of hitting rock bottom while in the middle of a hockey game on national television.” I watch him, his eyes going back down to the menu. “Have the glass of wine if you want, Zoe.”
I look down at my own menu now, his words replaying in my head over and over again. The waiter comes over and puts down our two glasses of water with two straws. “Did you guys decide what to order?” he asks us, and I look at Viktor, who just looks at me.
“I’m going to start with the mini meatballs, then I’m going to have the arugula”—I hand him the menu—“with a side of french fries.” I smile at him, then look at Viktor, who orders some wings to start and then a meat lover’s pie. Josh smiles and walks away.
“Why didn’t you order wine?” Viktor asks, grabbing his glass of water and taking a sip.
“Because it’s rude if I do, and I don’t need it to eat,” I tell him. I’m not sure what the right or wrong answer is.
“It’s not rude—”
I hold up my hand. “I don’t know what you’re going through or what you went through. I mean, I know when I was younger, Matthew went through something, but I was too young to know.” I look down at my hand and then up. “If at any time I offend you or even—”
He cuts me off now. “Zoe.”
“Seriously.” I tilt my head and push my hair behind my ears. “It’s a huge deal.”
“What is?” he asks. When he shrugs off his jacket, I see that his arms are bigger than yesterday.
“Hitting rock bottom and admitting you have a problem,” I tell him honestly, and before I make a fool out of myself, Josh comes back and places our plates in front of us.
“Thank you,” he says while he grabs a chicken wing and takes a bite.
“For what?” I say, biting into a mini meatball. “This is so good.” I put one on my fork and hold it out for him. “You have to try this. It’s like you died and went to Italy.” He looks at my fork and then looks at me. “I don’t have cooties.” He leans in and grabs the meatball in his mouth and starts chewing. “Isn’t it good?”
“It is, but I don’t think it tastes like they do in Italy.” He laughs, grabbing a napkin to wipe the sauce from his wings on. “Have you ever been?”