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)
“Um, hello?” I say, slightly breathless even though I’ve been running approximately nowhere. “Who calls first these days?”
“It’s faster than texting,” he rumbles, also slightly winded. Though from the sound in the background, he’s probably using one of those treadmills I saw in his gym.
Does this man ever take a day off?
“What’s the problem?” he growls.
“I told you. In a message. Like normal people.”
“Yeah, I didn’t read it,” he tells me over the sound of feet pounding the treadmill. “Just saw it come in. What’s happening?”
This is embarrassing.
At least by typing it, I didn’t have to face his reaction when he hears how hopeless I am.
“It’s just… I don’t know if I can do this.” I press my face against the pillow again, muffling my voice. “I’m at Nana’s and she’s asking me all sorts of questions I can’t answer. I barely know anything about you.”
“I see.” The sound in the background stops. “You with her now?”
“I’m in the guest room.” I roll on my back again, this time looking at my reflection in the window. My face looks blurred, the colors muted. Despite that, the face staring back at me seems prettier than my own. “Look, I know we had a deal and you’re paying crazy good money, but how can I make your man believe we’re madly in love if I can’t even persuade my own grandmother?”
“Miss Winkley, breathe.”
“Juniper,” I throw back. “We’re definitely sunk if you keep talking like I’m your secretary.”
“Juniper.” The way he says it shocks me to my core.
Like a slow rolling thunderstorm growling its presence into my bones.
“Easy for you to say,” I snap. “Your family isn’t involved in this.”
“Thank fuck they’re not,” he says calmly, “I understand your frustration, though. Haute will be easier to convince than your Nana, I promise you. He’ll barely care what you say as long as he’s stuffing his face.”
“That doesn’t help the fact that I’m stuck here and she’s asking for your life story. Next thing you know, she’ll ask when we’re going to have that dinner, and—”
“So set it up. Soon.” There’s another pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “How about the weekend? That gives us time to meet and get our facts straight.”
“This weekend?” I press the heel of my hand against my eyes.
“Unless you’re busy.” There’s an inflection to his voice that suggests he thinks I’m not. Like I have the luxury of ever taking weekends off.
I’m sure I can make time, though. I have a hundred thousand good reasons in the bank to take one measly day off.
“I’ll check my calendar,” I say.
“This Wednesday, can you do seven o’clock after work?”
The store closes at six, but I can always put Emmy and Jake on closing duty. I pinch my nose.
“Okay. Your place?”
“My office in Lee’s Summit. This is business, after all,” he says too quickly. “And Juniper? Don’t be late.”
“Don’t be a complete prick,” I throw back.
To my surprise, he laughs.
Again, my bones vibrate.
Every sound this man makes is a force of nature. For a searing second, my mind flashes to his lips, working against my ear from behind as he flattens me against that perfect kitchen counter in his palace, all hot breath and filthy promises, so ready to—
“Deal. If you’re late, all bets are off,” he tells me.
“I’m going to hold you to your end. Be nice,” I warn before the call ends, flopping down again and picking at my hair.
I have some time before I need to panic over Wednesday. Then, if I can hold it together, we’ll figure out the mechanics of lying spectacularly to everyone important in our lives.
God, how sick am I to go along with this?
As I head back downstairs, still wondering when my moral compass shattered, I tell Nana the call was just a kid from work. One more little white lie that makes me feel like a tumbleweed.
I should get used to it, though.
Ditto for this hollow ache in the pit of my stomach.
It persists through the biscotti cheesecake prep and Nana’s cozy stories and frantic goodbye kisses right until I’m home in my own bed, curled up and staring at the evening sunlight scintillating on the wall. Catness curls up against my chest, a warm lump of fur.
It’s nerves. Like standing over a sheer cliff with water below while your friends are watching and no will to turn back and prove you’re a wuss.
Sooner or later, you just have to hold your breath, leap, and pray.
Only, I’m in so far over my head I can’t even see what’s below me anymore.
And in Big Fish’s strange pond, I’m afraid I don’t know how to swim.
8
SWEET SLOW DANCE (DEXTER)
Forrest Haute might be a ruthless iron-fisted magnate with dubious connections to the underworld and a proclivity for clogging his arteries, but if you’ve managed to impress him, you know it.