Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Holding my wrist against myself, I close the clasp and touch the gold plate. Melissa. And a date beside it which I’ve always assumed was my birthday. That’s all I have of my life before I became a ward of the state.
I remember nothing about my mother or father. Not a single thing. But I was only a year old when I was found abandoned in a public restroom. I guess it’s normal for kids not to have memories from that age anyway. I don’t know. The kids I grew up with, the ones in the system, they didn’t.
But maybe that’s just us.
I was adopted before I turned two. Young kids are. Babies mostly, but toddlers too. And I lived with my adopted parents until I was seven when they died in a car crash. I then went back into the system.
Seven is older. You’re not as cute anymore. Not so much an empty slate for a family to stamp their expectations on you. To make you match them.
From then on, I bounced around from house to house until the Boyd family took me in.
They were the last family I lived with.
I give a shake of my head and walk to the kitchen counter where a mug has been set out and a piece of paper is standing up against it.
Help yourself to coffee. If you want breakfast, call down for it. One of my men will drive you home when you’re ready.
Hawk
I read the note again. His handwriting is different than I think it should be. More old-fashioned. Maybe European, I guess.
I take the mug and walk to the high-tech coffee machine. I set it down beneath the nozzle and read the various options, then push the button to make a cappuccino. A moment later, it whirs to life, grinding coffee beans and steaming milk from somewhere I can’t see.
When it’s ready, I take the steaming coffee and walk to the wall of windows to look out over the strip which is already busy in the morning.
I’m more of a tea person, but I do drink a cup of coffee in the morning, and this is good. Better than my drip coffee at home.
After finishing the coffee, I return to the kitchen to wash my cup, then open the refrigerator, which is clean and organized, like the rest of the place. Although all that’s in it is a carton of milk, two bottles of champagne, and some fruit in the drawer.
Opening it, I take an apple and bite into it. Crisp and cold and fresh.
I look around, peering up in the corners, wondering suddenly if he has cameras in here. Why did he leave me alone? Isn’t he afraid I’ll snoop or steal something? Although I guess he knows where I live. He has my driver’s license, after all.
And he knew right away that it was a fake. But I guess a man in his line of work would know those things.
I pick up the hanger with my clothes and notice there’s even one with my cleaned underthings neatly pinned to it—do they dry-clean underwear?
On my way back to his bedroom, I try the doors, finding only empty bedrooms and one locked door. Probably a study.
After finishing my apple, I have a shower and get dressed. I smooth out the bed and take one last look at it before turning away, putting on my shoes and collecting my tote, to call the elevator.
I notice the key card in the slot and assume you need a key to unlock it. It arrives momentarily and when the doors open, I step inside and push the L for lobby.
As they slide shut, I feel a strange sense of loss. Last night wasn’t what I expected. He wasn’t what I expected. Not the kind of man I thought he would be at all.
And it didn’t end the way it began.
Although what will this mean for Liza? A quarter-of-a-million-dollars is a lot of money to pay for a woman to scratch at you and turn into a whimpering mess when you try to get what you paid for.
I shake my head, turn to watch the city as the elevator descends. More glass. I wonder if he ever feels like he’s living in a fish tank, exposed and vulnerable.
No, of course not.
There’s nothing vulnerable about the man I met last night.
Digging into my tote, I find my phone and check the time. Almost ten in the morning.
The elevator doors open and I hear the sound of the casino, already alive with gamblers at the slot machines, a lot of whom have probably been here all night.
It’s too much, after all that silence of upstairs. A rude re-entry into the real world.
That sense of loss is back again as I take a step forward, but then a man steps toward me.