Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
My lips are trembling uncontrollably, and I feel like a complete fool.
“I should go,” I hear myself saying coldly, standing too quickly and bumping the coffee table, spilling some eggnog, and spraying cookies everywhere.
“My dear! Whatever’s the matter?” The old woman asks, moving to her own feet quickly but not worried about the mess I’ve made.
She’s more concerned about me.
I turn to make my way to the door, having no idea how to even get out of the damned building, let alone make my way home, but the thought of Steve and his personal assistant is just too much.
Idiot! I knew it was too good to be true.
Guy bumped his head and thought he was seeing angels.
Found himself alone with a young girl and did what came naturally to a man like him, I guess.
I feel her hand on my arm, gently trying to hold me back, but when I get the urge to run, I run.
“Holly. If it’s something I said…,” the old woman says soothingly, her eyes pleading with mine one last time to stay, to talk.
But I’m already at the door, yanking at the handle, which I can’t figure out in my sudden hysterical state.
“Holly, just wait.”
“No!” I hear myself shouting. “I should’ve minded my own business… Steve Carter can keep his stupid hospital… his stupid money, and his precious personal assistant!”
The last words are more of a dry croak, and I finally manage to yank the door open, stumbling out into a brightly lit hallway, running this way and then that, desperate to find an exit.
I hear Sister O’Halloran calling behind me, but I don’t look back.
I tell myself I never will. Never again.
I tell myself this was all a huge mistake, that I’m an idiot for believing a man like Steve Carter could even look at me, let alone love me.
I thought he said we were a team?
He also just had ten stitches and is getting a CT scan for his head injury.
Duh.
Through streams of tears, I finally make my way to a familiar part of the building, then the foyer.
Deliberately not looking up at the portrait that thrilled me so much just a few hours ago.
The front doors slide open silently, and the frigid air of winter in the city hits me like a bucket of ice water.
My tears feel frozen to my face, which was hot with rage, but within a half-block, it is now red with cold.
I’m shivering with emotion, fatigue, and the plummeting temperature.
My last cent was spent getting a millionaire to his hospital. Now it’s just me, the cold streets, and an empty future.
The future I was so certain of only a short time ago.
He even said so himself.
He said a lot of things… but never mentioned Madison.
I stop from the stitch in my side. My chest is tight from crying and the cold. I feel sick, like all I want to do is die right now.
But Holly Winters isn’t a complete quitter.
I’ve been through worse, and after the day I was having before I even met Steve, I knew things would be tough for a while.
I just have to reset my mind to that way of thinking.
They might pay me after all. I tell myself.
I have two weeks of holiday, too.
Plenty of time to avoid my landlord for another few days, then maybe just skip town on a bus.
Start fresh somewhere else.
Like I did when I came to this god-forsaken city in the first place.
I watch the puffs of my breath slowing down after resting with my hands on my knees for a minute, getting my bearings inside my mind as well as outside on the street.
It’s an hour or two hike but the only way home now is to start moving.
I’ll work the rest out on the way, with all the final details once I’m home again.
See?
Not the end of the world, Holly. You’re made of tougher stuff than you think.
Just one step at a time. One foot in front of the other.
Steve Carter? He doesn’t know what he just missed out on.
I hope Madison-Malibu Barbie is worth it for ya, buddy. Cause you just missed out on the most amazing girl in the world.
Sucks to be you, Steve, whatever your name was….
This is my monologue for the next hour.
It has to be.
Walking as quickly as I dare on the icy pavement, stopping every now and then to stamp my feet, my arms folded under my armpits to keep my hands warm.
I have to tell myself something until I make it home.
Then I can start to sort out the mess that is my life.
Again.
As tough as my inner dialogue is right now, I know once I do make it home, I’m gonna collapse into a heap and cry like I’ve never cried before.
But not right now.
I gotta make it home first.