Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I open the door and flip on the light, and then something collides with my head.
What the hell?
The projectile clatters to the floor: a fuzzy purple slipper.
“DO NOT COME ANY CLOSER!”
I blink and look up to find a petite girl—no, woman propped up on her knees in my bed, wielding a second purple slipper.
I take another step into the room, and she holds it up like she’s taking aim.
“What do you want?!”
Alright, my brain is admittedly not firing on all cylinders here. It’s been a long day, it’s late, and I’m slightly disoriented. My first thought, and I’m not proud of it, is that I might have somehow wandered into the wrong house. But then, obviously no. This is my fucking house.
“Who are you?” I ask, my voice thundering.
She throws the second slipper, and I catch it, easily.
“Could you chill out for a second?”
“Who are you?” she asks, throwing the question back at me.
“The owner of this goddamn house. Who are you?”
“Oh no.”
The color drains from her face.
I realize it’s the first time I really give her appearance a passing thought. She’s not exactly dressed for company. Her spaghetti-strapped tank top is two sizes too small and slightly askew, and her pajama shorts are tugged too low. Her chestnut brown hair is a tangled mess, and her face is a mask of horror.
When she speaks, her voice is whisper quiet. “I’m your new employee. Chloe.”
New employee.
New employee?
I rack my brain trying to corroborate that information. There’s been a lot going on this week what with Harper’s last few days of school, the leak in the Colorado house, and my agent calling me every five seconds. Did Pat hire someone to help take care of things at this house? I know we discussed it a few weeks back and I gave him the green light to start the interview process. I wouldn’t be surprised if I have an email about it waiting unread in my overflowing inbox.
“Pat hired you?” I ask.
“Pat Alessi,” she confirms with an enthusiastic nod. “Started today, actually.”
Jesus Christ.
I drag a hand through my hair and curse under my breath.
She flinches. Apparently, it wasn’t quite so under my breath.
“Well you’re in my room.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “Your room? The primary bedroom is upstairs.”
“Yeah, well, I like being down the hall from my daughter.”
Her warm brown eyes widen in horror, and then she scrambles off the bed, entirely too much of her tan cleavage on display. I avert my eyes.
“I can be out of here in just a minute.”
I don’t bother telling her to stay. I don’t even know her; I don’t want some stranger sleeping down the hall from Harper. This girl can move upstairs for now. We’ll deal with the rest of the bullshit in the morning.
She’s running around gathering up her stuff as quickly as possible. Fuzzy socks, a dog-eared paperback, a scraggly polka dot blanket. In the bathroom, she just sweeps everything off the counter straight into her bag as if she can’t get out of here fast enough.
I only realize I’m standing at the door like some menacing overlord after she’s finished and about to rush past me. She stops at my side, looks up at me, and then up some more. She’s a pipsqueak.
From this angle, her face is all eyes, like some princess sprung to life from one of Harper’s Disney movies.
For a fleeting second, we assess each other. Her eyes rove over my face, and then she winces.
“Listen, I’m sorry about the slipper. And, okay, there was another incident earlier with a knife, but—”
My brain can’t unscramble her words fast enough. Knife?
“What?”
She shakes her head. “You know what? Never mind. Just—I’m sorry. I really am. I can just go if that’s easier?”
“Go?”
“Leave,” she says, frowning. “I bet the last Jitney hasn’t left yet. Surely there’s another one before midnight. Or if not, I can just…I don’t know.” She looks at my forehead with regret and maybe even a little bit of awe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I had aim that good. I got you right above your eyebrow. It’s all red.”
I touch the skin where her slipper made contact with my face. It doesn’t even hurt.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, her voice soft with remorse.
For some reason it only makes me more annoyed. “Stop apologizing.”
She startles and steps away from me. “I’m—oh my gosh, I was about to do it again! Okay. Leave, Chloe.”
The last part she mutters to herself. I realize I never invited her to stay here. For all I know she’s about to walk right out the door. I might be incapable of most decency at the moment, but I’m not about to throw this girl out on the street in the middle of the night.
“Just go upstairs. We’ll worry about everything else in the morning.”
With a nod, she steps out into the hall, but then she pauses momentarily when she hears the low murmur of Harper’s white noise machine through her door. “Do you think we woke up your daughter?”