Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
My father’s brows raise slightly, and he looks genuinely surprised. “Of course,” he says, patting me on the back. “I trust it’s about the matter from the other night?” he asks although it’s said as a statement.
“It is,” I say, feeling the ball of rage grow larger, getting harder to contain. I clear my throat and glance back to where Jules disappeared, only to see her good friend and editor Katerina striding toward me.
My face stays neutral, with no emotions expressed whatsoever as she approaches.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” my father says beneath his breath, turning his back to Kat and walking away without waiting for me to acknowledge him.
Kat approaches me with an expression of distrust, an air about her that makes it obvious she’s here because she hasn’t heard from Jules. I thought about responding to her messages myself. Jules received texts from so many people feigning concern, but really wanting gossip. And then her friends, who seem genuinely worried.
Before she stops in front of me, I force a small smile to my lips, one that’s welcoming. I’m already losing my sweetheart; I need to play this right.
“Mason.” Kat states my name as if she’s ready for a fight, but that’s not how this is going to go down. She just doesn’t know it yet.
“I’m so happy you’re here, Kat,” I say and nod my head slightly. “Have you seen Jules already?” I play up the concern in my own voice and expression, and watch as her anger slips and her forehead pinches. She finally looks behind her for only a moment before turning her attention back to me.
“We just got here. She’s here?”
“You came with Evan?” I ask her. Her husband is well known in the public relations industry, although he travels with an entirely different sort of social circle. The industry has treated him well, but he’s rarely home. That’s the angle I have. Two couples; the men friends, the women friends. She’ll trust me. She’ll help me. At least I pray she will.
“I did,” she says and peers to her right, closer to the entrance before clearing her throat and adding, “He’s here somewhere.” She licks her lips and squares her shoulders, remembering what she’s come here to yell at me about.
I cut her off before she can begin by saying, “I’d really like it if you could talk to Jules.” Jules’s name on my lips and the thought of someone talking to her privately makes apprehension creep into my veins at the possibility of her spilling the truth. I shrug it off and use the intensity of the truth to help create the lie. “She’s taking the wedding situation a little bit hard.”
Kat watches me for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she assesses my words. I lean forward, dropping my voice and letting the insecurity that is all too real show. “She’s not okay,” I tell her. “She could really use a friend right now.”
“I haven’t spoken to her in over a week,” Kat says, confiding in me and I don’t let on that I know it’s uncommon for Jules not to return a call. I play my emotions as I should.
“I’m not sure she wants to talk about it”—I can see Kat’s objection on the tip of her tongue and I say it before she can—“but she needs to.”
Kat’s mouth stays parted and she tilts her head, still judging my request as her husband walks up behind her.
“Evan.” I pull back from Kat and press my lips into an acceptable smile. One that reflects my unease for what Jules is going through. At least that’s what it shows Kat. A part of me feels like a prick, like the manipulative asshole I am, undeserving of Jules. But I already knew I wasn’t good enough for her, and this show, this front, is all to save us. To save what we have.
“Thatcher, how are you, man?”
A huff of a grunt leaves me as I rock back on my heels and shove my hands in my suit pockets. “That’s my father’s name,” I say jokingly and Evan laughs deep from his chest, raising a tumbler of amber liquid to his lips. The ice clinks in his glass as he wraps his arm around his wife’s waist.
“You two make quite the couple,” I say, complimenting them. They have definitely been the talk of the city on more than one occasion.
“Speaking of couples,” Evan says, and his cuff slips back over his wrist as he lowers the whiskey, hiding the sleeve tattoo. His left arm is covered in tattoos. His background is perfect for his profession. He’s from Brooklyn with the reputation of a man who grew up on the wrong side of the law. He made a name for himself, but only in the best of ways for his job.