Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 52699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
“I guess we can start there.”
“We’ll also end there.”
“Fine.” He didn’t push the issue any further. “Lunch at Rita’s today?”
“Are you paying?”
“It’s your turn.” He walked away, and I shuffled the papers in my hand, looking for the work I requested from Elizabeth last night.
Unable to find it, I called her phone again.
“Yes, Mr. Carter?” she answered on the first ring.
“Miss Tanner, I’m looking for my deposition notes.”
“I haven’t gotten around to those yet.”
“Does that mean you’re seconds away from doing them?”
“It means, you gave me six other things to do before that, and I’m working on those first.”
“They need to be done before we go to the airport and catch a flight to meet with the client.”
“I won’t be able to make it,” she said. I’m out of town.”
“Again?”
“Yes.”
“Where exactly are you?” I asked.
“I…” She sighed. “I’ll make sure you have the deposition notes before noon.” She ended the call as if she had the upper hand, and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, she did.
REMAND (V.)
TO SEND BACK
ELIZABETH
Damien
I checked flight and bus records and didn’t see any in your name. Where did you go?
Miss Jansen wants you to call her about her case. She claims to prefer your approach over mine.
Whenever you’re FREE to do the work you get PAID to do, meet me at this [[linked]] address.
Istared at the brightest billboard in Times Square, watching a group of suited lawyers flash fake smiles and pretend handshakes.
The words “We will fight to get justice for you,” appeared in bright blue, and then Bowles, Bushman & Associates followed.
I was suddenly reminded that I’d never seen a single ad for Hamilton & Associates. The floor in our building that was supposed to be designated for marketing & PR was taken over by the coffee cafe, and although the social media pages featured thousands of followers, there was only one picture post from years ago.
It was a fake billboard marred with words that couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
“Fighting for the good guys…”
When the ad transitioned to one for toothpaste, I turned away and continued walking to the address Damien gave me.
The doorman tipped his hat to me as I approached, and I walked into the lobby.
“I was beginning to think you were quietly quitting on me.” Damien suddenly stepped behind me.
I turned around and did a double take. He wasn’t wearing his usual suit. Instead, he’d exchanged it for a black T-shirt that clung to his muscles, and grey sweatpants that exposed the edge of his hard and chiseled “V.”
“If this stakeout will be longer than usual, I need to run home and grab a change of clothes,” I said. “You could’ve told me to dress comfortably.”
“It probably will last a while.” He smirked. “My apologies.”
“I’m being serious,” I said. “I thought you were past the petty stage.”
“This is where I live, Elizabeth.”
“What?”
“I figured we could work here tonight, if that’s alright with you.”
Oh…
He sent for the elevator, and it arrived with an attendant within seconds.
“Good evening, Mr. Carter,” he said, “and Mr. Carter’s guest.”
We stepped aboard and as the car rose, I eyed Damien through the mirrored glass—wondering how many other women he’d taken home before me.
“Zero.” Damien stared back at me, seemingly reading my mind.
“Huh?”
“Mr. Hanson,” Damien looked into my eyes through the glass, but he was speaking to the attendant. “How often do I bring coworkers or guests here?”
“I believe this is the first time I’ve seen you bring anyone here, sir.”
Ding!
The elevator stopped, and Damien pressed his hand against the small of my back, leading me through an open doorway.
His grey and white living room was larger than my entire condo, and his panoramic windows let in all the lights from Times Square.
“I need to make a few phone calls,” he said. “Feel free to take a tour.”
Setting down my briefcase, I walked down the hall, opening every door I passed. After reaching the master bedroom, I found myself in a closet that put mine to shame.
His tailored suits hung from labeled hangers, his ties and watches lay in neat rows atop a center table, and his collection of Italian leather shoes were enough to fill a custom boutique.
Straight ahead, tucked behind a rack of ties was an open glass door. I squinted and I spotted a desk.
“Why would you put an office in your…” My sentence stalled as I stepped inside.
This wasn’t an office.
It was an obsessive shrine…
Newspaper clippings clung to every wall surface—some yellowed and frayed, some copied, some in perfect condition. All of them featured variations of the same story with varying headlines.
No Survivors in Late Night Condo Fire.
Midnight Blaze Claims Dozens of Lives
Landlord Left Grieving, Devastated
I pressed a hand against the ones to my left, the only ones that were printed with grey ink on black paper.
Sonny Caps Condos to be Rebuilt