Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“No, that would be wildly inappropriate.” I laughed and stared into my already perfectly stirred hot chocolate to avoid eye contact.
“He’s also engaged. I spent last night at an apartment that is used for witness protection,” I lied.
Wow, I guessed when a person headed down the path to hell, the rest of the vices started coming easy, like lying to my best friend.
“He let me just stay the night, thinking the heat and electric would be back on today. Clearly, he was wrong, but I think they are probably moving someone into that apartment tonight.” I shrugged. “It was nice while it lasted.” I took another pull from the very boozy chocolate.
Sabrina nodded and stood up, heading toward the door.
“Well, I have to get to work but before that I’m dropping off some stuff at my sister’s. I’m going to stay there until the heat is back on. Want to come with? We can take turns sharing the sofa. With lots of blankets, the floor isn’t too bad.”
“I’m good. Tell your sister I said hi,” I called out to her retreating back. She waved to me without turning around, to indicate she heard.
I finished my drink, the rich chocolate and cheap vodka swirling in my stomach and staving off some of my hunger, at least. I hadn’t had lunch or dinner.
It was early, but I didn’t have any food. The heat was still off, so I figured the best thing I could do was to build myself a cocoon of blankets to keep warm and just go to sleep and deal with tomorrow when tomorrow came.
I crawled into bed, still dressed in my work clothes, not willing to risk the brittle cold to get naked and put on more cozy pajamas.
I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep when my head started pounding.
I knew we could only afford the cheap vodka, which meant the hangover was going to be brutal. It took a moment for me to realize the pounding wasn’t coming from my head. It was coming from my front door.
The door was locked, the chain was secure, and I was not getting out of my cocoon of blankets.
I may not have been super warm, but I was at least warmer than I would be outside of my nest of blankets. Just sticking one toe out told me that the apartment was frigid and I needed to stay exactly where I was. Whoever was at the door would get bored and go away eventually, I told myself as I closed my eyes and buried my head under the pillow, hoping to muffle the sound.
The pounding didn’t stop.
It slowed down but got harder, like whoever was trying to get my attention wasn’t knocking anymore but throwing themselves against the door.
Once. Twice. By the third time, there was a sickening crack.
I looked up to see what was left of my door falling into the room inches from my face.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I sat up instantly, regretting the cold air that hit my back as my heat bubble popped.
“What am I doing?” Harrison asked, stepping into the apartment. “What the fuck are you doing? I told you to wait for me. I told you not to leave the office.”
“Well, your fiancée came and said you had dinner plans, so I figured I should just go home,” I lied, again.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your fiancée showed up at the office today demanding to know where you were because she wanted to make sure you’re available for dinner and to drop off the wedding invitations and announcement for your approval. I left them on Cynthia’s desk, so if there’s nothing else.” I lay back down and pulled the blankets over me.
“Why did you come back here? Why didn’t you at least go back to the apartment I gave you?”
“Because this is where I live. This is who I am, and pretending to be some Fifth Avenue princess is just going to make it that much harder when I have to come back here. Assuming you don’t get me evicted first? In which case, I need to start looking for a nice, comfortable cardboard box. Have any of your rich friends recently bought a refrigerator?”
“Get up. I’m taking you back to the apartment.”
“How would your fiancée feel if she knew that you were fucking your paralegal? I would say at least it’s not as cliche as fucking your secretary, but she doesn’t know the difference.”
“Honestly, she shouldn’t care,” he said. “I’ve repeatedly told you. Our engagement isn’t a romantic one. It’s just business.”
“Does she know that?” I asked.
“I don’t give a fuck what she knows or doesn’t know. It’s a business arrangement. I need you there, where you’re safe and aren’t going to die of hypothermia.”
I snorted. “And where you have easy access to my pussy. No thanks. You need to leave.” I pulled the covers up over my head.