Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Because what could someone whose mind was up there want with a big, dumb lunk like me?
“The parking lot at the marina was full,” Russ told us, “so I told the string quartet they could park here. But…” He pointed and I followed his finger.
Around the base of the building, the ground had been churned into mud by all the heavy machinery. And stuck hub-cap deep in the mud, spinning its wheels, was an old Volvo station wagon, crammed full of instruments and four worried-looking musicians. The driver, a tiny woman with glasses, was bouncing up and down in her seat, trying to coax the car free, but the wheels just dug deeper and deeper trenches.
Russ chuckled. “This is why people in our business drive 4x4s,” he told me, nodding to where a couple of mud-covered off-roaders sat parked. He turned to Lorna and nodded at her wedges. “You stay here, you’ll ruin your shoes. Come on, JD.” And he marched off towards the stranded car, his shoes squelching in the mud.
For a second, I just stood there, staring. The man was a CEO, his company was worth billions, and he was going to push them out of the mud himself? I jogged after him. “Aren’t you going to mess up your shoes?” I asked. “And your suit?” The cuffs of his pants were already getting coated in mud.
“Ha!” He stamped his foot down, happy as a child. “These things cost me a fortune and they go out of fashion before they wear out. About time one of them got dirty.”
I decided I liked Russ McBride. He reminded me of my dad, the sort of guy who did his deals with a handshake. The two of us got behind the Volvo, planted our hands on the back of it and prepared to push. “Give it a little gas,” Russ told the driver.
The woman behind the wheel touched the gas. We heaved, but the wheels just spun, painting our ankles with mud.
“Again,” said Russ. The two of us grunted and pushed for a full minute, but the car wouldn’t climb out of the ruts it had dug.
Then we heard a squelching. We looked up to see Lorna marching through the mud towards us, barefoot, the hem of her dress lifted and bunched in one hand. “Make a space,” she told us. “And turn around, we need to push and lift.”
Russ and I made room between us and all three of us lined up, backs to the car, our hands hooked under the rear fender. I followed Lorna’s legs down to her bare calves and my eyes locked on the creamy, naked skin. What’s wrong with me? I finally managed to drag my eyes off her…and looked up to see Russ watching me knowingly. I looked guiltily away.
“On three,” said Lorna. “One, two, three.”
We dug our heels into the mud, lifted and pushed. The wheels spun, spun...and then found grip. The car surged away, and suddenly, we had nothing to lean against. Russ and I went staggering backwards and just managed to stay on our feet. But Lorna’s bare feet were stuck in the mud and she fell—
I twisted and grabbed her just before she hit the ground. The two of us froze there, face to face and bent low, like I’d just dipped her in the middle of a dance. With each breath she took, her breasts brushed my chest. I was lost in the scent of her, the softness of her…
I snapped out of it and slowly hauled her upright, then forced myself to let her go. She gave me a shaky nod of thanks.
Russ caught my eye again, looking amused. “Come on,” he said. “We all deserve a beer.”
It felt like I’d passed a test. And I wasn’t ready for how good that felt.
We trooped back to the construction site’s entrance, where the string quartet had stopped to thank us. Lorna picked up her shoes but left them off, saying she’d wash her feet on the boat. I loved that she didn’t mind getting dirty: she might be rich, but she was no spoiled princess.
Russ led us down to the dock and over to his boat. I’d been expecting some big, white motor yacht, with leather couches and a hot tub. But it was a sleek, fifty-foot sailboat, built for speed, not showing off. Russ went aboard and started messing with ropes and sails, while we fetched a couple of coolers of food and beer from the marina. I glanced up at the half-finished Hudson Tower again…and stopped. Up close, it had looked huge and impressive. But now we were further away, I could see it as part of the skyline and that brought it to a whole new level. This thing was going to be part of New York culture: in every movie, on every tourist photo. “Wow,” I mumbled, stunned. I shook my head. “How do you even...” I trailed off, unable to put it into words, and just gestured at the building.