Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
I looked around the room, scratching my neck. “Don’t flatter this shithole. No one is going to write a book about it.”
“Ambie, I’m serious.”
“Me too. Not even a leaflet. I doubt we’re even on the map.”
“If it’s money that you nee—”
“Respectfully, Al? Fuck off.” I was no charity case. If there was one thing I hated, it was people waving money in my face like I was a problem in need of fixing.
“You can’t sell the land. It’s historic. It’s special. It’s…it’s…haunted!” She threw her arms out desperately. “That’s a well-known fact.”
I advanced toward the door. “Look, I appreciate the last-ditch effort to try to save your career, this town, or whatever it is you’re fighting for, but it ain’t happening. It’s a good deal, and I’m taking it. I just built a house for Dylan and my mother and bought my own apartment in London. The cash flow will help, and I actually think the plan’s good.” I did. Not that it mattered to anyone. People couldn’t see past their anger once you moved their cheese.
“You bought an apartment there?” Her throat bobbed, and she had that look in her eyes of a kitten that had been kicked to the curb.
I strangled the doorframe on a sigh. “Told you I’m leaving for good.”
“I thought…” She rubbed at her temple, frowning. “I thought you meant in a few more years. Not…like, now.”
“Seven weeks.” And not a moment too soon.
“So you’re basically killing this town, then bailing on it?” Her expression hardened, and she was pretty, but she wasn’t Cal-pretty. Her skin glowed but wasn’t punctuated by freckles. Her eyes were blue, but they didn’t sparkle. And when she smiled, the world didn’t stop spinning.
“Sadly, I’m bailing before.” I bowed my head sarcastically. “The constructor said they aren’t going to break ground until next year. Blueprints are ready, though.”
“And what is it that I’m hearing, that Calla Litvin is working for you now?” Allison changed the subject sharply, her eyes roaming my face wildly. “She’s the poster child for useless. Are you doing your sister a favor? I thought Dylan finally ditched her all those years ago.”
“Are we done here?” I folded my arms over my chest.
Allison shook her head. “She’s a weirdo.”
“Yeah?” My hand grabbed the doorknob. “Well, normal people are boring, and ordinary and average are fucking synonyms. Who wants to be that?”
“Wait, Ambie, come back here! We’re not done talking.”
She started chasing after me. My answer came in the form of the door being slammed in her face.
ROW
oBITCHuary: Can you send me a picture of your ear?
oBITCHuary: Any ear would be fine (but left is best).
McMonster: Have you been day drinking?
McMonster: WHY?
oBITCHuary: I find ears attractive. Like, when I look at a man (in pictures, I’m mostly too horrified to check them out IRL) I always look at the ears. I’m trying to see if we could be a good match.
McMonster: I thought you only wanted to be friends.
oBITCHuary: Ugh. You are a master negotiator. Trade-off?
McMonster: I don’t mean to sound rude, but I really couldn’t give two craps about your ears, Bitchy.
oBITCHuary: Well, Mac, I was thinking more…like…a picture of my lips?
McMonster: Which pair?
oBITCHuary: Sheeeesh.
McMonster: Very kissable.
McMonster: Verdict?
oBITCHuary: Also very kissable.
McMonster: You’re weird.
oBITCHuary: But you love it.
McMonster: But I love it.
ROW
Staindrop’s library was a redbrick, two-story colonial building with bottle-green shutters and a sage roof to match. Both the American and Maine flags danced in the wind on either side of the white, arched entryway. By the number of cars parked along Main Street, I gathered every single asshole in the town was in attendance.
I slammed the Silverado’s door and trudged my way in, muttering profanity all throughout. I went past security, guessing such a measure had been taken precisely to prevent someone from putting a hole through my head. Thank you, Allison. An unfamiliar guard patted me down with inappropriate gusto. Swore he copped a feel when he reached my nether region.
It was nice to see an unfamiliar face, though. Then he started talking and ruined everything.
“Where are you workin’ out? You’re buff, nice definition.” He tried to make small talk while running his fingers over my biceps and maintaining eye contact. “Just moved up here with the wife from Alabama and lookin’ for a good gym. Not into the CrossFit nonsense and all that jazz. Just need an old-school place.”
“I work out at running a kitchen for sixteen hours a day,” I provided dryly.
He laughed. I didn’t. His smile vanished. “I see what it’s like. Good day, sir.”
“That ship’s sailed.” I shouldered past him, going through the double doors of the conference room, which could easily moonlight as a high school theater. It was stuffy and windowless, with old, creaking floorboards and a stage that had seen better days. Probably during World War II.