Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
To my surprise, yet again, Doc doesn’t write a note.
Doesn’t chime in with his thoughts.
He simply offers my explanation a curt nod and stares with the blackness of his soul until I stand, take a long needed deep inhale, and exit the room without looking back.
Chapter 2
Presley
Theory 1: Love is An Addiction.
I don’t believe in perfection.
I don’t believe life is about being perfect.
I think it’s about making the most of what you have with what you were given. The aces as much as the two of hearts. All cards in your deck matter in different ways. I do, however, believe that once you’ve played that hand, it’s time to move on. Nothing healthy comes from dwelling on the past. Reliving it. Re-imagining the depths of the butterfly effect, which by the way, was a total bummer of a movie.
I believe doing those things – harping on what once was – are a total waste of time and more importantly, a waste of brain power, something I have less and less to spare every day.
“Come on, Presley. You owe me,” Katherine insists from the visitor side of the desk.
My forehead immediately furrows. “How do you figure?”
“Who loaned you the money to build your dream?”
Under normal circumstances, Katherine isn’t the type to rub money in anyone’s face. She doesn’t hide it, but she doesn’t go to lengths to flaunt it either. To say she comes from money would be the understatement of the century. She basically fucking breathes it. Most of it is family inherited – this millionaire banged this millionaire to somehow make mini billionaires –, but she also married into it as well. The cash she tossed to me to build my passion project momentarily just stopped her from buying another yacht. To her money is literally just an object, but unlike others with that kind of wealth, she’s typically a good person.
Except now.
Right now, she’s being a not so good person and an even worse friend.
“I gave you back every last penny.”
“Not my point,” she smoothly states, pushing her recently bobbed caramel colored hair behind her ear. “I did you a favor in your time of need. Your turn.”
Time of need is sadly right. The few banks I had contacted in regard to a loan laughed in my face. It’s not like my credit was terrible – totally wasn’t – or even like I didn’t have potential. My idea was golden. Is golden. Childcare facilities often made thousands in profit – when ran well – and what I was proposing would make millions, especially considering I was going to be running it. I’d paid my dues in that department starting at eighteen, continuing through college, and after, where I got all the knowledge that I needed firsthand. Thankfully, Katherine knew better than the banks. She knew she was making a wise investment the second I started pitching the idea. There are plenty of expensive, high-class daycares and private elementary schools across the whole country, but private preschools geared towards those with more money to throw into their child’s education from an early standpoint are a bit rarer. Places that offer your children art classes designed and written by those with degrees in the field, musical classes by the future composers of our time or past award-winning ones looking for a different pace in life, and gourmet meals that borderline on haute cuisine yet kid friendly enough to still be devoured are basically non-existent outside of me. I’ve created a unique, private school that shows remarkable results as early as six months, lasting impressions from those enrolled in the after-school program which stops at eight-years-old, as well as found a way for those who are going to school for Early Child Education and the Arts to have a steady job in their field. I’ve made quite a name for myself in the last few years. I’ve poured everything I have day in and day out to reach this level, to live this dream, to be the undeniable household name that I am.
That name should be enough for me.
This…level of…excellence should be enough for me.
But it isn’t.
And I’m not exactly sure why.
Folding my hands in my lap, I scrunch my face in a sarcastic fashion. “Time of need? Really, Katherine? Aren’t you being a teensy, weensy bit dramatic?”
Her expression and posture take that of a much taller Edna from The Incredibles. “Darling, it is so a need.”
Yeah, she even says the term of endearment like the character, hand movement and all. Only thing missing are the glasses.
“My publisher believes this is an award-winning idea – and you know how much I love winning awards.”
More than is probably healthy.
“I need one more case study – you – to help prove a couple of relationship theories I know are really going to carry this book.” Her warm ivory hand plants itself on her black skirt covered hip. “I swear that I won’t use your real name. I’ll call you…Prudence.”