Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
I trudge back to the sink, and without scrubbing, I rinse the industrial cleaner down the drain. Once I’m confident the toxic product is headed for the sewer system, I relocate myself to my semi-clean island and proceed to slouch over the surface. Benji snuggles closer to me now that I’m returning to a more normal state, and I welcome the warmth of his soft fur on my bare feet. I grab the remote to my boom box and switch off my cleaning music—Belinda—and put it back to the woman who tells it best—Dolly.
“You know, Benj, I’m not sure I’m cut out for this cleaning stuff. Maybe I should just hire someone to do it,” I remark, tossing the remote back down to the counter and leaning into my elbows again.
Benji responds by nuzzling his snout closer to my toes. I take that as his agreement. Yes, you should definitely hire someone instead of risking our lungs.
Dolly’s barely three lines into “9 to 5” when three sharp, pounding knocks on the other side of my door pull my spine straight from its usual hunchbacked position—desk workers unite!—and the skin between my eyebrows knits. Benji’s curious too, jumping up from his place on the floor beside my feet and tilting his head to the side.
I’m going to be really impressed if he already called someone at a cleaning service. Paw dialing is tricky.
The thing is…we don’t get visitors very often. Other than a yearly visit from my Midwestern parents, Benji and I pretty much rule this roost. It’s not that I don’t have a couple of acquaintances in the city, but they’re not the kind of people I invite over for wine and cheese on a weekly basis. Truth be told, I save the vast majority of my social energy for my characters.
They need to be interesting a whole hell of a lot more than I do.
I bend over to give Benji a swift scratch on the head to reassure him he shouldn’t be worried. It’s a lie—we both know it, given my heart rate—but my dog is sophisticated enough to understand it’s the thought that counts.
On hurried legs, I dash across the open space to shut off Dolly—the power button on my 1990s remote gave out a long time ago—and then head back in the direction of the door. Another knock sounds, and it feels like whoever is on the other side is growing impatient.
I cross the living room, and when I reach the entry, I take a deep breath before leaning in to look through the peephole. I don’t want whoever it is to hear me hyperventilating through the wood.
Chase’s handsome face is distorted and ballooned thanks to the fish-eye effect of the view, but I’d recognize his features anywhere.
Though, I’ll be honest, I never expected any of the anywheres to be right outside my apartment door.
What is he doing here?
Panic rushes over me, and Benji bumps into my legs in warning. I take three deep breaths and try to steady my voice as I call out, “Yes? Who is it?” like I don’t know who the motherflipping fox just outside my henhouse is.
“It’s Chase! Dawson. Your editor!” he stammers, quickly sucked into my game of stupidity. I shake my head, glance down at my shirt before giving it a sniff test, take another cleansing breath, and finally open the door.
Benji stands at attention next to me, and to be honest, I can’t blame him. Last time I was around this guy, I totally flubbed the whole consciousness thing.
“Chase?” I greet, still sounding unsure as to who and what he is. An alien, an amoeba? He could be anything at this point.
His cheeks are full and bright with blush, and his hair is standing on end as though he’s run his hands through it a million and one times.
“We did it, Brooke! We did it.”
The words ring in my ears as I try avidly not to make sense of them. To ignore them completely. To transport my brain to a little, tiny island with cute umbrella drinks and no work whatsoever.
But my pulse pounds in my throat, and Benji crowds my legs like a little doggie couch.
Chase reaches out and grabs my face, both cheeks at once like you’d do if you were about to kiss someone, and the action momentarily gets my erratic heart’s attention. “They agreed to make the change and take the chance!”
He searches my gaze, his hands still cupping my cheeks, and he is so close that I can see the swirls of blue and light gray within his eyes. There’s even a hint of gold around the edges, and if I leaned my face a few more inches, our lips would touch.
Our lips. Mine and Chase’s.
“Accidental Attachment is getting published!” he exclaims, and his voice bounces with the kind of enthusiasm that grabs my focus with an ironclad fist. “We have the green light to let the world fall in love with Clive and River!”