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 often wondered if she was onto my games, but she never said anything. Although sometimes, just sometimes, I also wondered if the laugh was coming from somewhere other than the superficial stuff that supposedly caused it. I could see it in her eyes. That look. That look that told me it was more, that there was more between us than ridiculous jokes and cocktails. She was happy and laughing from the heart.
Her eyes gave her away. She felt more, just like I did. But now, it was time to test our relationship and tell her. Her beauty tonight made me think impossible things. Impossible things and heartfelt confessions, such as adding a future to our past and present.
* * *
I save the document, ending it there for the day. Writing this book has been draining. I know it’s not what Alec expected from me. Hell, a love story isn’t what I expected to be writing either, but that’s exactly what’s being written. That’s what is flowing and needs to be told.
The hardest part of this process has been relying on Charlie to lead me in the direction of the story. She’s been guiding me to the ending all along, completely unaware. Sometimes I worry that neither the story, nor we, will get the happy ending we want and deserve, but I try to believe and hold on to hope.
I’m giving her time, because I’ve never felt like this about anyone. I stay in this relationship, this friendship with her, because I realize that this might be it. This might be all we ever are, and being the loser I am, I’d take it. I’d settle for this if this is all she can give me. She’s the one, but she’s skittish from being burned by love, so I’ll just have to show her I’m the one for her.
Time is what’s needed. I’m the impatient sort, so time has become my torturer.
My phone buzzes, inching across the desk in front of me. Justin’s calling. “What’s up?”
“Just got a call from my girl. Rachel said you need to come up here today. Charlie might need you.”
“Why, what’s going on?”
“Something about an auction and Charlie crying. That’s all I got from Rachel. When emotions get involved, I tune out. You know this, dude.”
I shake my head. “Yeah, that’s real appealing to the ladies, I bet. How ever does Rachel resist your charms?”
“She doesn’t. The woman is insatiable.”
“No, don’t go there,” I say, cringing. “Let’s get back to Charlie. She’s at work?”
“Yeah, something about some dead ex-boyfriend and an auction today.”
Jim’s estate is being auctioned and it’s happening today? “I’ve gotta go. Bye.”
I hang up and call Charlie’s cell phone, but there’s no answer. I grab my wallet and keys and take off.
Grabbing a cab because it’s faster, I hurry into her building on Madison and up to her floor. I approach the reception desk. “I’m here to see—”
“Charlie Barrow.”
“Yes,” I reply. I’m surprised the receptionist knows.
“I remember you from the last time you were here.”
“Good memory. Can I go back?”
She leans forward on her elbows, and her smile grows wide. “She won’t be at her desk. There’s an auction in less than an hour. She’ll be gone for a while. Do you want to wait here with me?”
She’s flirting. I know all the telltale signs. Her eyes are wide and focused on me with a little glint in them. She readjusts until the V of her top is highlighting her cleavage. She leans forward, even at the expense of it appearing odd and uncomfortable.
“Thank you, but I need to find her. It’s important.”
She sits back, not wasting another minute of her time on me now that I’ve shown no interest. With a dismissive wave of her hand, she says, “In that case, she’s down on the first floor in the gallery or the auction room.”
I hurry back to the elevators and down to the first floor, rounding the corner to find the entrance. When I enter the auction room, it’s empty. I call her name out a couple of times anyway. “Charlie?”
A man pushes through wide double doors off to the back and props them open. I see people milling about back there. Walking into the large gallery, I look for her, but still nothing.
“Charlie!” I hear Rachel call me, and I turn. Her heels echo in the large room as she hurries over. “I’m glad you came. She acted like it didn’t matter all day, but now . . .” She sighs and looks around. Leaning in, she whispers, “This is the first time I’m clerking an auction on my own. I want to be there, but—”
“Don’t worry. You go do your job. Where is she?”
“She’s by the jewelry display case.” She points at the back left of the gallery.
As I walk over there, I notice all of the stuff going on the block today. A leather couch. A painting that looks like the ones sold at the corner of Washington Square, but the expensive version, and a crystal vase. Everything is very traditional, formal, the painting an exception. From the photo frames to the dining table and chairs, the items piece together the mystery of who Jim used to be, but I don’t see much of Charlie in the belongings.