Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
I didn’t think it would be this easy to allow someone this close to my space. I had been prepared to give her this room if this felt wrong to me.
You, Sidney James, are the exception. I just might not let go.
I don’t know who I think I’m kidding. I don’t think I ever had the intention of letting go. Not too quickly, anyhow.
Maybe, not at all.
Chapter 10
Morning Rush
Sidney
When I wake, I feel like something is missing. I roll onto my back and find cold sheets beside me. When I blink open my eyes, it all comes back to me. I lift my hand to stare at the engagement ring and my mind fills with a million thoughts.
I shiver a little and it hits me. I’m missing his warmth. I spent the night wrapped in his strong arms. I haven’t had that kind of peace in years. My last few boyfriends were assholes. I could never do enough for them.
Eventually, I gave up trying. I had to find Sidney before I allowed another man to tell me who Sidney should be. I like to think I know myself now, which is why this all shocks the hell out of me. In my mind, I would’ve demanded my own room or to be taken to my own home in the first place.
Something about Clayton Hennessey makes me second-guess myself and want to explore option B. I can’t help asking myself, why him? It’s not just his handsome face or his well-sculpted body. It’s him, his presence, the way he takes charge and seems to be in control of everything around him.
I don’t give over control of my life to anyone. Yet, with Clayton, I feel like I can give him my trust. I frown at my thoughts and shake my head. The movement reminds me of my ruined hairstyle.
One thing I love about this wig, when it’s wet, its curl returns. Unfortunately, I’m just not the greatest at taming it back into the straight style it had been in. I tried last night, but I was too tired to make a real effort.
I smile when I think of Clayton’s offer to fix it. I doubt he even knows it’s not my real hair. Besides, I’d like to know what his version of fixing this will be.
“I might as well get up. I’ll need time to work this out,” I murmur to myself.
After a quick shower, I enter the side of the closet Clayton referred to as mine. Last night, I was shocked to find it full of items in my size. Everything from lingerie to shoes and a designer wardrobe. I ignored the glass display, filled with designer bags. I refuse to get sucked in by my weakness. However, I did note the Hermes bag, which nearly had me swallowing my tongue.
This morning, as I stand here, you would think I shopped for every item in this closet. It’s my style to a T. I don’t want to think too hard about what this says about Clayton.
I think about the meetings he mentioned we’re supposed to be having today, feeling my defiant streak rear its head, my lips lift into a mischievous grin. Clayton looks like a man who likes to set a certain impression for the world. I plan to test that theory.
“Wedding planner,” I mutter and snort.
Let’s see if he’s ready to go through with what he’s asking for. I’m not some trophy wife who will sit pretty and perfect. Men like Clayton like to have women like me seen but not heard. I’ve worked around his type enough to know.
I’ve never been willing to bend to their rules, and I don’t plan to start now. I move past the designer dresses and pantsuits neatly hung before me. I pluck the first pair of jeans I find from the hanger, wiggling my thick hips into the dark-blue denim.
“Oh, wow, these fit like a glove,” I muse to myself, spinning to look in the mirror. I turn from side to side.
I’m truly impressed. It’s not easy for me to find such a perfect fit. Pleased with my new find, I turn for the drawers I went through last night. I grab a black tank top, tugging it on. With a cheeky smile on my lips. I walk across the bathroom to Clayton’s closet.
Reaching out, I run my hand over the collection of suits, followed by dress shirts. I stop when my fingers run over the soft fabric of a navy-blue shirt. Pulling the shirt from its hanger, I slip it on. The shirt swallows me, but it smells so good. I fasten most of the buttons, tucking the front into my jeans.
I turn for the mirror and watch my eyes sparkle with mischief. The shirt hangs off one shoulder and hangs loose in the back like a dress over my jeans. It’s a cute look. I head back over to my side of the closet, rolling my eyes at myself for thinking of it as that—my side.