Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“Christ,” he mutters. “This is going to be the longest three months of my life.”
“Let’s both hope your team chokes and you don’t make the playoffs.”
He scoffs and tightens his one-handed grip on the steering wheel but says nothing.
Smart. The less Dane Foster and I talk to each other, the better off we’ll both be.
CHAPTER THREE
Josie
We ride in silence until Dane stops at the gated entrance to a modern limestone building with landscaping that looks straight out of a gardening magazine. He turns to speak to me as the gate goes up after scanning a sticker on his lower windshield.
“Don’t share my address or any details about me with anyone,” he warns. “Don’t take any photos inside my home. My privacy is important to me.”
I smile to myself, thinking about all the photos people may have taken of him handcuffed to that park bench. God willing.
“Our agency has higher-profile clients than you,” I say lightly, though in reality, the Mammoths are top tier. “My job is to help ensure your privacy, not violate it.”
“Keep it that way. I don’t let many people inside my home.”
The building is located just outside the city, the long driveway leading to an underground garage. The lighted garage has four wide doors, one of which Dane opens by pressing a button near his rearview mirror.
The garage is big enough for two cars, and a dark-gray Jeep Wrangler is parked inside. Dane pulls up next to it, parks and exits his car, grabbing my bag from the back seat.
I hold Mr. Darcy close, concerned he might jump out of my arms and hide. We take a small door out of the garage and Dane pushes some buttons on a keypad, closing the garage and locking the door.
An elevator takes us up to a tiled foyer with four doors, modern art displayed on the walls. Dane enters a code into a keypad and opens the door, stepping aside so I can enter first.
Now he wants to be a gentleman? It’s a little late for that. I walk into the apartment, which is bright and open. The windows run from floor to ceiling, some of them extra wide to maximize the view of the Minneapolis skyline.
I’ve never been inside such a luxurious home. The floors are grayish-brown wood, the furniture all neutral brown and cream shades. The kitchen has white cabinets, marble counters and a huge island with six barstools.
“The guest room is this way,” Dane says, leading me down a hallway.
Just like the rest of the house, the guest room looks like no one lives in it. A white down comforter covers the queen-size bed, not a wrinkle in sight. There’s a small wood chest of drawers and a walk-in closet.
“I’ll keep the litter box in here,” I say.
He cringes. “Fine.”
Then he sets my bag on the bed and leaves the room. I stare at the open doorway for a few seconds, unsure what to do.
What if he leaves? Should I ask him if he plans to leave?
I can’t close the door to the room to keep Mr. Darcy inside because then I won’t be able to hear the door if Dane leaves. My cat is very attached to me, though, so I doubt he’ll go anywhere.
I set Mr. Darcy on the furry throw folded at the foot of the bed. He stretches out and curls up on the throw, freeing up my hands.
First things first, I get on the Instacart app and order a litter box, cat litter, iced tea, and a few other groceries. Jane shocked me by depositing an extra five hundred dollars into my bank account for expenses, so I’m not completely broke for once.
I unpack my clothes, put my bag in the closet and pick up one of the paperbacks I unpacked.
Sighing softly, I sit down on the bed. I already miss my shabby little apartment. The bathroom faucet leaks and it’s drafty when it’s cold outside, but it’s filled with books, plants and comfy, well-worn furniture. It doesn’t feel sanitized and vacant like this place.
I’m stuck here, though. At least for now. Might as well make the best of it. I pick up Mr. Darcy, who meows in protest and carry him to the living room, where I sit down in a chair and start reading my book.
Dane walks into the living room and puts his hands on his hips, his expression annoyed.
“I’m going to a birthday party for a teammate tonight at a restaurant downtown,” he says.
“What time?”
“Leaving at five thirty.”
I panic inside, wishing I’d brought some nice dresses. I packed a capped-sleeve black pantsuit and black ballet flats that will have to do.
“Am I allowed to ride with you, or should I take an Uber?” I ask.
He scowls. “You can ride with me, but you don’t need to be beside me all night. People will think we’re together.”