Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
He gave her a tight hug as he shuffled them in and kicked the door closed.
“You’re here now and couldn’t make the gala?” he asked her.
She tipped her head back. “I had some reshoots to do. The movie is almost finished, those were what was holding us back in editing. I didn’t want to delay. And I didn’t think you’d miss me.”
She was making a documentary with her mom about mothers and daughters.
He was looking forward to seeing it.
“We missed you,” he refuted.
Still holding onto him, she gave him a grin along with a shrug.
He heard voices in the living room and knew he was in for it even before Cadence broke their hug and whispered conspiratorially, “Chloe and Judge are here. So is Jamie. And Rix and Alex. Heads up, I think they mean to ambush you, though not Judge, Rix and Alex. And Chloe and Jamie seem to have different reasons for whatever they’re up to.”
Fabulous.
“Thanks for the warning,” he replied.
His arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist, they walked into the living room.
When they entered, it wasn’t the first time he thought Mika’s pad was the shit.
Stuffed full of the life she’d lived, there wasn’t an inch of it that wasn’t interesting, and quite a few of those inches were taken up by her own art.
She was talented, had a point of view she’d never been hesitant in sharing, and even after sustaining a tragic loss when Cadence’s dad, the drummer of the alt-rock band The Pissed-off Hippies, Rollo Merriman, died, she hadn’t let life pass her by.
Hale had always felt captivated and impressed by how interesting she was, as was her life, as depicted by her space.
But this time, entering that living room, he felt a strange pang.
Like something was missing.
Elsa decorated like that, although considering she was twenty years Mika’s junior, her space wasn’t as full nor as big.
But she’d told him last night about how she found her art. Where she’d scored the vintage Fitz and Floyd pinstriped plates and the mismatched wineglasses she had. How her throw pillows were made custom by a neighbor who came into her pad and decided what she needed, then handpicked the antique silk scarves she made them from. Even Elsa’s sofa came from her dad’s best friend’s den, a man she called “Uncle Adam,” and she’d always loved it. So when that room was repurposed, he’d given it to her.
Everything she owned had a story.
Everything had meaning.
Hale had never been a “things” kind of guy.
But he was realizing now he’d also never really had a home.
He owned his dad’s properties, and there were many. He used them often, particularly the house in LA and the apartment in New York. He’d asked Brandi to hire interior designers to redo the penthouse so it was more Hale, more comfortable, warmer, more inviting, not his dad, where the space had been crisp and modern and designed to impress.
He hadn’t touched the house in LA.
He’d approved of their design schemes for the penthouse, but that was all he’d put in it.
He was thirty years old, had buckets of money, but he hadn’t bought that first painting that was something he saw that moved him, so he had to own it.
Chloe, as she would, kicked it off.
“You’ve got some ’splaining to do, big brother.”
Mika temporarily saved him by getting up and giving him a hug before she asked, “Beer?”
“That’d be great,” he answered.
“I’ll get it,” Cadence said, and ran to the hallway to go up the stairs to their kitchen.
Tom came in for a hug and a hearty slap on the back next.
This went all around, and he was settled into an armchair with the beer Cadence brought him, everyone else settled around him, when Chloe prompted, “Well?”
“I’m dating Elsa Cohen.”
“I would hope so, mon frère, considering Sash and I caught you with your hand in her pants. The question is, why?” Chloe demanded.
Everyone was watching him with differing expressions of expectancy, meaning they all wanted an explanation.
And considering their various levels of fame, and that Elsa had reported openly and copiously about all of them, they deserved it.
“Obviously, I like her, and equally obviously, I’m attracted to her.”
“She’s a parasite,” Chloe declared.
Hale’s back got up.
“Honey,” Tom warned.
“I’m using Hale’s word for her,” Chloe defended. “That’s what he called her when she pulled that shit with Sam.”
He didn’t remember the words he used, he just remembered how outrageously pissed he’d been at the time, so he didn’t doubt he’d used them. But the bulk of that had not been aimed at Elsa. It had been at his mother.
In turn, he used Elsa’s words. “She’s course corrected.”
“She showed Blake’s breast on one of her episodes,” Chloe countered.
Hale glanced at Alex and carefully shared, “Blake sold her that picture herself.” He gave that a second then said, “And it wasn’t the first time.”