Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what exactly?”
“Put up that guard and pretend to disparage something you want because you’re not sure how to get it.”
Her face tells me she’s shocked by how much I see. So much so that she has to pretend I’m wrong.
“You don’t know me and you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Sofie pushes away from the bar, sets her glass down, and turns to walk away. I grab her elbow, gently and firmly. She tilts her head back, connecting our eyes.
“I see you, Sofie.” I dip my head the few inches to bring our eyes level so she can read me as easily as I read her. “You’re not just a pretty face and a tastefully done Playboy spread. There’s a lot more to you than that.”
“Sofie!” a voice calls over a few heads.
We both follow the direction of that voice.
Aw, hell.
I grit my teeth when I see Rip heading our way. Sofie pulls away, but not before Rip’s eyes draw a line between me and his girlfriend, a frown settling on his commercial-ready face. This guy has no idea who Sofie is. I doubt he cares if she hungers for significance. That she wants to be more than just a walking, talking beauty brand. I can see how he and everyone else would assume that’s all there is to her because she hasn’t shown them anything else. I see her with unexpected clarity, though, like a gem under a loupe lens. Guys like Rip will never challenge her to be any more than the girl on his arm and in his bed. She’s more than that. She’s worth more than that, and I want her to know it.
Dumb move on my part, but I follow her, and when she’s only a few steps away from Rip, I grab her gently by both elbows, pulling her into me until her back is flush to my chest. I lean down so that my words will reach only her ears.
“Sof, I’m leaving for Cambodia tomorrow.”
Her long, slim body stiffens against me, but she doesn’t glance up or back to look me in my eyes.
“If you haven’t gotten rid of him by the time I get back, you know that rule I have about not going after other guys’ girls?”
She does look up at me then, eyes guarded and uncertain, yet somehow knowing.
“I’m breaking it.”
CHAPTER NINE
Trevor
I miss the ocean.
My arms feel like overboiled noodles barely dragging me through the electric blue, chlorinated water in the Brooklyn athletic club up the street from my sister’s house. I long for the tumult, the capriciousness, the wild beauty of water deeper and wider than this tame rectangle marked in feet and inches. I want fathoms so deep I’m not sure when I’ll reach the bottom, or if I ever can.
I’ve lost count of how many laps this makes. When I was a kid, I had so much pent-up energy, I couldn’t focus and ended up in fights. Just as doctors started recommending medication, my father got me into football. And basketball. And swimming. Physical activity has been my drug of choice ever since. It focuses me, centers me, in a way nothing else ever does.
I haul myself onto the edge of the pool, chest heaving and arms trembling. I can tell I haven’t been training. I stopped counting laps, but I know I can usually do more than I did this morning. Out of habit, I run my hands up my face to push back my hair, but there isn’t much hair to push away. I buzzed it down when we were in Cambodia. Harold and I just got back two days ago, but I’m already pining for the open waters of the Atlantic down at Tybee Island, where I have a beachside property I don’t get to use nearly enough.
The pool door opens, and Harold strides over to me, dressed in gym shorts and a T-shirt. He sits down beside me, taking off his running shoes and socks, dangling his legs in the pool.
“I figured I better come make sure you hadn’t drowned.” He hooks a towel around the back of his neck. “Man, you’ve been in there forever.”
“Have I?” I snatch a towel from a nearby stack, wiping water away from my eyes and face.
“I knew you’d need to burn off some steam after that meeting with Ernest Baston.” Hesitation settles on Harold’s face. “Are we pulling out of negotiations?”
I consider my partner and best friend, holding my words for a few more moments. This was never meant to be permanent. We were twenty-one years old when we started the Deutimus journey. We said we’d give it five years to see if it succeeded, and it’s surpassed all our expectations. Helped more people and made more money than either of us ever anticipated. But it was never supposed to be forever. We’re both eager to find a partnering business that shares our values and can take Deutimus to the next level, but we can’t compromise on commitments we made to the people all over the world who bought into this vision. Who have, in many ways, staked their futures on it.