Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Little Junie, never enough to keep a man around.
“What do you want to know?” I ask, shoulders hunched.
“Everything! But let’s start with his job. What does he do?”
Okay, I know this, at least.
“He works for Higher Ends International. One of their big fish guys.” Oh crap, did I say that? “It’s a pretty high-powered real estate thing, I guess. He like… acquires properties to spruce up and turns them into glorified Airbnbs.”
I’m frowning.
Is that even right?
I have no idea beyond the quick facts I dug up when I did my internet sleuthing.
Beyond the fact that they’re kind of a big deal in the KC rental market and he chases down guys like Forrest Haute who are even bigger and richer than he is, I have no real idea what Higher Ends really does.
Nana frowns as she measures sugar carefully on her old brass scales. I’ve offered to buy her electronic scales more times than I can remember, but she swears by them.
So much so that I bought a pair for myself last Christmas and started using them to bake at home. Not practical at the store, but it turns out there’s something deeply satisfying about weighing things out the old-fashioned way.
“So, he’s a property developer then,” she says slowly. “And a rather successful one at that.”
“Yeah.” I pinch my eyes shut. “You could say that.”
“What do you mean, dear? Surely, you’d know?”
“We haven’t talked much about… money. I mean, I think it’s a little touchy when he’s so rich and I’m—well, me.”
Nana laughs and shakes her head. “Juniper Winkley, don’t you dare sell yourself short in my presence.”
“His house is really fancy,” I offer.
That gets her attention. She whips her head around so fast her glasses almost slip off her nose. “Oh?”
I think back to what I remember.
It’s all a blur, honestly.
I hadn’t thought my big ambush through before I arrived, and seeing him there in his workout clothes—with so much sweat clinging to his skin—he was hotter than the sun. Standing and leering at me like a Greek god in his personal Olympus that could fit my shoebox one-room apartment a dozen times over.
“It’s big,” I say helplessly. “He has a kitchen to die for with all the latest stuff. Oh, and an indoor gym.”
“Ah, that explains it. He looks rather trim. You don’t get a body like that pushing papers all day.”
“Nana!”
“What? I have eyes in my head, y’know.”
This conversation could not get any worse.
“So,” Nana says, her mouth busier than her hands. “How did you meet?”
Welp, I was wrong. This conversation can get worse.
How am I supposed to answer that?
“Oh, you know,” I say vaguely. “People. Friends.”
“You have mutual friends, Junie? Who?” She darts me a sharp look.
“You know…” I need to stop saying that. “He knows people. Lots of people. He’s wheeling and dealing all the time and probably has a third of Kansas City in his contacts.”
“Yes, but who introduced you, honey?”
Crap.
“…I don’t think you know her, Nana.”
She looks almost as frustrated at the conversation as I am. “It was a her, was it?”
“I mean…” I am royally screwed now. “Oh look, my phone’s going off. Hang on, Nana, be right back.” Waving my totally silent phone at her, I rush upstairs into the spare room and throw myself on the bed.
What the hell is wrong with me?
This whole mess hinges on me persuading everyone we’re dating and I can’t even convince Nana and still sound like a normal human being.
Yikes.
Nana, whose dying wish probably involves me finding a man to settle down with because she can’t wait for my wedding.
Frustrated, I pull up Dexter’s contact and fire off a quick message, my fingers shaking.
I don’t know if I can do this. Nana’s asking lots of questions and I don’t have answers. Sorry I suck.
I toss my phone aside and stare up at the pale peach-pink ceiling.
Nana’s favorite color. Her whole existence is a splash of sunshine, and she’s worked her butt off for every ray.
Coming to her house feels like I’ve gone back in time forty years to the days when she was in her prime, basking in a happy, well-lived life.
Usually, that’s a good thing, but today it just makes me think of Jake.
You mean she’s finally entered the twenty-first century on some dude’s dime? Let me know the next time Big Fish comes in so I can shake his hand.
Groaning, I roll over and bury my face in the pillow.
I’m a laughingstock among the kids on staff.
Who else is laughing behind my back?
Who else will look at me and think Dexter Rory deserves better… besides everyone?
To my surprise, my phone buzzes for real now. Twice.
Grabbing it, I peer at the screen to see Big Fish on the call screen. Yes, I’m guilty of using that stupid nickname in my contacts.
I swipe the green icon in a haze.