Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Besides, she was nice.
Well . . . usually.
Now she had me pinned to my chair with her gray eyes as I nervously awaited her opinion on my music compromise. Her long, thick blond hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Darcy wore flared black high-waist pants and a stunning silk blouse with oversized sleeves. She was so chic, and despite the nontraditional business attire, she also looked like a twenty-first-century professional who could bludgeon my reputation to death with her six-inch heels.
Suddenly she grinned. Her smile was a revelation. It was the first thing I noticed about her when we met—Darcy Hawthorne had the sweetest, warmest smile, completely incongruous to her intimidating looks.
I wondered if her smile had attracted Christopher.
And Matthias, of course.
I relaxed. “You like?”
“Yes.” Darcy nodded, turning that smile on Matthias as she curled her hand around his on the table. “I think it’s the perfect compromise. It’ll surprise my mother when the violinist plays the opening notes to Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit.’ ” Her eyes filled with laughter. “But I’m actually looking forward to that moment.”
We all chuckled, and I continued to share more of my thoughts about how we could bring their two personalities together for the engagement party.
It was going well until Darcy commented, “These suggestions are near perfect. You took the ideas we sent you and came up with a plan we just couldn’t imagine. You’re wonderful.”
Guilt consumed me at the reminder that Darcy had sent me a link to her cloud account that allowed me access to not only her engagement inspiration boards but also those videos from her ex-boyfriend.
“Are you okay?” She leaned toward me. “You look . . . oh God, is it something you ate?” She looked down at her own empty salad plate in concern.
“No, I’m fine. I . . .” I wanted to blurt out the truth. That I’d watched private videos meant only for her.
But a little voice in my head stopped me.
That voice belonged to my boss.
“I just remembered that the musicians I wanted to hire for your party might not be available,” I lied, my cheeks unbearably hot.
“Oh no.” Darcy looked stricken, making me feel awful.
“It’s all right, mon ange.” Matthias slipped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her into his side. “We will find others.”
“Don’t worry.” I hurried to assure them. “It was just a thought. I could be wrong. I will check that and let you know ASAP.”
By the time we finished lunch, the lie between us had drained me. The right thing to do would have been to tell the truth. However, as I pondered my dilemma, I realized that Christopher hadn’t really spoken intimately about their relationship in his video letters. The three I’d watched so far were really about what he was doing on the space station. I’d never thought space would be interesting, and I didn’t know if it was the superhot astronaut explaining his mission or that his enthusiasm was so infectious.
I think it was both.
Definitely both.
Okay, maybe more of the former than the latter, but still.
Space was fun. And hot. Well, actually it was freezing, but he made it really hot.
I ignored the stupid flutter in my belly as I returned to the office. For goodness’ sake, I had a boyfriend. No way should I develop the equivalent of a high school crush on a man I didn’t even know.
* * *
“I made it!” I gasped for air as George opened the door to his apartment in Brooklyn. While I rented a one-bedroom apartment in Kensington that made me long for the backpacking life, George, my financial manager boyfriend—whom I’d only seen once a week in the last month because of his busy career—rented a top-floor apartment in an attractive brownstone in Prospect Heights. It was so much bigger and brighter and airier than my place, and I really hoped one day he might ask me to move in with him so we could see each other more.
My hope had nothing to do with his master bathroom or the four hundred square feet of extra space. Really.
George stared at me like I was a lunatic. “Why are you sweating?”
I pushed past him into the apartment. “You wanted me . . .” I breathed through a stitch in my rib, holding my side for a second. “Me . . . you wanted me . . . here at six thirty. I think I’m dying.” I leaned on his leather sectional for support.
“I didn’t say kill yourself to do it.” My boyfriend placed a hand on my back. “Jesus, you’re really hot.”
I grinned through my breathlessness. “Why, thank you. You’re not too shabby yourself.”
He frowned at me. “Where is your coat? Did you decide to forgo one since you planned on running here?”
Remembering my near-death experience on the subway that morning, I stiffened. “Something like that.”