Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
I’m quite surprised she sent my engagement ring, but I’m sure the reminder of the rift it caused is insignificant compared to the disappointment she felt toward me for loving it so much. I’m sure she wanted to rid herself of it—rid herself of me—once and for all. The other ring wasn’t returned to me. I bet she kept it or sold it. Either of those scenarios wouldn’t surprise me because that ring was really hers all along.
I pile the papers back into the envelope and slide the invitation and box on top of them before placing it inside the large drawer where I keep my purse. Once more, I kick the drawer shut.
“I’m in for tonight.”
“Great! I discovered this cool place downtown. It’s not too trendy, but it’s got a great, hip vibe.”
“Fantastic!” I feign enthusiasm because although I’m not excited about going out, I need to try to start living again.
It’s Friday, and standard for our business, I get a large amount of tedious paperwork piled in my inbox regarding this weekend’s auctions. The day seems to flow by without any major interruptions, apart from the unexpected visit from Mr. Smith. He’s our auction house’s founding leaders’ grandson and is a descendent of the original, blue-blooded families in this city.
Frederick J. Smith III provides an endless source of enjoyment among the staff. He’s older than the States and less animated than a sponge. He’s a character unlike anyone else I know—other than Jim’s mother. They’re very similar, more similar than I recognized before today.
“Ms. Barrow, I’m still not able to place your ancestry. You can fill me in when I have more time. It has bothered me so.”
“It’s Scottish, sir.”
“No, no, Charlotte. I said when I have time.” He walks off with strong intentions for the coffee room, accompanied by his assistant. “Oh, how I do love those foamy lattes you make, Teresa.” She follows him down the corridor to make him that special treat.
I swivel back to my desk and notice it’s almost five. Rachel pops her head up over my cubicle wall, all smiles and excitement.
“You ready?”
I pause to shut down my computer. “Yeah, I’m ready.” Grabbing my jacket off the hook, I swing it on while pulling my purse out of the drawer. That’s when I see the package again. I had managed to forget about it most of the day, getting lost in my work. But I can’t avoid it now. I remove the papers and box, and toss the envelope in the trash.
Stuffing it all into my oversized purse, I make my way toward the elevators. Rachel keeps pace as the doors open like they know how desperate we are to leave. We glance over the crowd, then squeeze in. As soon as the door opens, we race each other to the exit. That brings a smile to my face—a welcome reprieve from the heaviness of today. After a quick goodbye at the corner, we separate, having already settled our plans to meet up later.
I walk to the closest subway and straight onto a train. My mind wanders, as it always does when I’m on the train, the tunnel whizzing by. It’s how I decompress from the day.
As the subway approaches the next stop, I notice a man—an attractive man—standing on the platform. Dressed casually, he’s wearing worn jeans, a light-blue, button-down shirt, and sneakers. A large group pushes in behind him when he steps on. His face is handsome, and his eyes are kind. He’s really good looking, and for the first time in forever, I kind of want to flirt. Maybe I should talk to him? I probably shouldn’t. He’ll think I’m a weirdo. This is New York City. People don’t like strangers talking to them on the subway. I watch as he lets everyone around him take the available seats while he remains standing. His politeness is refreshing.
I’m staring too long, realizing a few seconds too late that this is my stop. I jump up from my seat and bump right into him. Since this is New York, no pardons are needed, but I still automatically say, “Excuse me.”
“No, I’m sorry,” he replies, maneuvering out of my way. Our eyes meet for a solid second before I turn back toward the exit doors.
I get stuck between a pole and a woman a foot shorter than me who refuses to budge. I look down at her and repeat, “Excuse me, please.” I push forward without trampling anyone, but the doors close before I can reach them.
Deflated, I stand there, once again reminded that this is my life now—a series of hassles and a distinct difference from the one I once led. Life used to be sunshine. Life used to be easy before . . .
When I turn around to grab a pole, I notice the handsome man entering the next train car. I continue watching until the door slides closed behind him.