Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Damn.
I thread my fingers through my hair.
I’m going to miss her like crazy, which makes no sense at all.
Again, I consider asking her to come along, but again, I stop myself. It’s a work trip. I’m going to be busy. I won’t have any time to spend with her.
Except for nights… In her room…
God…
What is wrong with me?
I hardly know the woman.
I have to get home to pack, so I finish up what I’m working on and go back to my hotel suite.
“Shit,” I say out loud.
I had an appointment with my realtor Saturday morning to look at potential apartments in the city.
I text her quickly and cancel, saying I have to go out of town.
Then I pack my bag and call Phillipe to take me to the airport.
All the time, I’m thinking about how much I’m going to miss Mary.
And her simple, impersonal response. My hands itch. They want to pick up my phone and give her a call.
But I resist the temptation. Resist the urge.
It’s not what she wants.
And it shouldn’t be what I want.
…
I had Jennifer book me at the Orleans Hotel.
I want to look at it, see what I would’ve done differently.
I gained three hours on the flight, so it’s only eight p.m. here.
But I have no desire to research the hotel this evening.
No.
My desires lie elsewhere.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mary
I feel pretty shitty after I hit send.
Have a safe trip.
That’s all I said to Ronan, but I wanted to say so much more. I’m deeply disappointed that we won’t be together this weekend at the club.
Today is my last day of vacation time. I was going to spend the day registering for classes online, but I desperately need to get out of my apartment, so I decide to take the subway to the university itself.
Why register online? I can register in person. Maybe talk to an admissions counselor. Find out what my options are. Back-and-forth question and answer is always better face-to-face.
I have two years of college under my belt. I quickly send an email to my university to have them sent to me.
I dress in the only pair of conservative black slacks I own. For work, I usually dress in jeans and a top from the store, sometimes a corset.
My mother once told me that every woman should have a navy-blue skirt, a pair of black dress pants, a crisp white blouse, and a pair of black pumps, because you never know when you’re going to need to look professional.
I choose not to wear the pumps. I slip on a pair of black flats instead because I’ll be walking.
The black pants and the crisp white blouse—a cotton blend—still fit me perfectly. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail with a black scrunchie, apply a touch of lip stain, blush, and mascara, and I’m ready to go.
…
“May I help you?” a young woman asks when I walk into the administrative building at the school.
“Yes, hi. I’d like to find out what my options are for finishing my degree. I have two years toward a business degree at Mellville.”
“You can do all that online. You didn’t have to come in.”
“Yes, I know. That was my original plan, but I have the day off today, and I thought why not visit the campus? See if it’s a good fit.”
“Absolutely.” She hands me a map of the campus. “We do have a tour today. Graduating high school seniors always tour on Fridays. You can join the tour that leaves in an hour.”
“I’d like that. Thank you.”
“And I’ll see if one of our admissions counselors is available as well. Give me a moment.”
“Thank you,” I say again.
The receptionist taps on her computer. “It looks like one of our counselors does have availability. Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll give him a call and see if he’s willing to talk to you?”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” I move to the small waiting area, take a seat on the sofa, and pull my phone out of my purse.
For the life of me, I don’t know what people did to look busy before cell phones.
A few moments later. “Miss?”
I raise my eyes to the receptionist’s voice.
“I can go ahead and take you back to the counselor.”
“Great, thank you.” I rise and follow the woman behind the reception desk to a hallway of offices.
She knocks on one of the doors.
“Come in,” a man’s voice says from the other side.
I cock my head. No way…
She opens the door.
“Hey, Luke. This is the young woman who wants to talk about registering.”
Luke? My stomach drops.
He was Lucas to me.
That was five years ago, when I was a student at Mellville…and he was a professor.
I resist the urge to drop my jaw.
He rises, moves to shake my hand. “Good morning, I’m Luke Tedesco.”
Really? Does he really not recognize me?