Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 40969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
“This is me.” I make a note of adding bright lights to where her parking spot is reserved for ‘The owner of Viva La Tranquiliá’. At least this way, she always has a spot. It also has Pierre written all over it, overseeing all of the fine details that no one seems to think about.
“So it is.” Celeste has the keys to her two-door older model Audi A5 in her hand. It’s in pristine condition even if it has some age on it. Black on black; paint color, rims, and interior from what I can see through the windshield, seeing as her windows are tinted. It’s pure class, just like the owner, and when she goes to open her door, I take over, going for the door handle before Celeste can.
“Thanks, and thank you for everything tonight. I won’t lie, it was a bit worrisome with what was going on outside the spa and, well, walking to my car late at night. Hopefully, tomorrow won’t be like today.” Celeste stands at her open door. She may have lost her heels when I appeared at the spa, but it doesn’t change the sultriness she carries around her.
“You’re welcome, and if it is, call me.” I pull out my wallet and take out a business card, spinning it between my fingers then putting it within her reach. “Use it, please.” Her fingers graze mine as she takes it from me.
“Sure, I’ll do that.” She holds the card in the palm of her hand, better than putting it in her bag, letting it disappear to the bottom to never be found.
“Good night, Celeste.” I lean in and let my lips graze hers, softer than the other kisses we’ve exchanged tonight. I step back and watch her get situated then start the car, not leaving my place in the parking garage until the last thing I see is her taillights.
SIX
Celeste
“Oh, I fucked up. I fucked up big time.” I make it home, keeping my thoughts away from Wylder freaking Hayes, a miracle in itself. That’s probably because leaving The Strip at any time day or night is always a struggle with pedestrians walking every which way. I get it; I’ve been a tourist at one point in my life, but almost running them over because they’re trying to get the best photo ever is absolutely terrifying. That all changed once I parked my car in my apartment complex, shut down Beauty—yes, I named my pretty coupé—grabbed my stuff, and went straight to my fourth-floor apartment, getting the views of the desert instead of The Strip.
My mind goes back to the kiss Wylde laid on me. I’d like to say it caught me by surprise, but it didn’t. If anything, the chemistry simmering around us was like a boiling pot of water, slowly creeping to the top, only to bubble over no matter if you stir, blow on it, or move it off the burner, it’s that hot. The worst part is, it’s so freaking late I can’t even call Tyra to tell her that I’ve experienced the greatest kiss of my life. I’m thirty-one years old; sad to say that I’ve kissed many frogs to finally land a prince only for him to be my boss. Kismet isn’t doing me any favors today, that’s for sure.
I kick off my shoes by the door, drop my bag where it lands, and throw my keys in the small dish that’s on my entry table. Along with the business card Wylde gave me. I never did put it down once he handed it to me; instead, I kept it in the palm of my hand the entire drive home. Utterly ridiculous, that’s what I am. I kiss my fingertips before pressing them to the picture in the frame. It’s hard when you lose a pet that becomes your family, my beloved puppy who I rescued at the young age of twenty-one. My parents told me it was the dumbest idea I ever had, thinking I’d be too busy for Creedence, the small Frenchie mixed with a Terrier of some kind. I never did forget about my boy. It didn’t matter how busy I was, I’d make time for her or hire a dog sitter who would come let her out when needed. There’s still a small hole in my heart that I’m not sure I’ll ever get back from having to make that difficult decision last year.
Once I do that, my usual routine every time I walk through the door, my hand goes to my back, finding the zipper as I walk through the hallway of my two-bedroom, one-and-a-half-bathroom apartment. The white walls that came with the place blend perfectly with my mid-century modern style, allowing me to add the muted greens, blacks, and gold accents without it becoming obnoxiously overloaded. My dress falls down, getting hung on my hips, the name of the game when you have curves. I shimmy until the dress drops, then pick it up and place it on the chair in my room that holds the never-ending pile of clothes I’ll eventually hang up or put in the dresser.