Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Before anyone can help her fill in the blanks with how to respond, there’s a knock at the front door. A soft, barely there kind of knock. It’s probably a good thing we’re interrupted.
Granny stands up calmly, but Lennox, since he’s already standing, races to the door. It’s probably good for him to take a breath of fresh air. He looks like he needs it. He’s a little too flushed at the moment. Either that, or he ordered something he wants to get to before the rest of us do.
We all wait, and when he comes back a minute later, looking confused, we all immediately tense up. When unexpected people turn up at our door, it’s not usually a good thing, and I’m also pretty sure no one ordered pizza. On the other hand, they surely could have, given that our breakfast ended up sizzling to a char and dumped into the trash. I just hope no one went for the anchovies again. I don’t know what it is with this family and their anchovies.
“Orion, it’s for you.” That’s all Lennox says before he sits down beside Cass. He looks so, so much calmer now. Yup, the fresh air from opening the door clearly did him wonders.
Of course, now that he knows it’s me who is probably going to meet my doom, he’s calm. Or he’s going to stick me with the pizza bill, which is just a shitty thing to do because our funds all come from the same place.
As I stand up and walk to the front door, which is around a corner and down the hall, I’m half wondering if this is a prank. Leave it to Lennox to do something like that. It’s probably someone peddling something like shoe oil or hair gel, and he wanted to stick me with the hour-long sales pitch. Come to think of it…I could probably use both of those. If it was an adorable group of girls or just one girl with her parents selling cookies, I know he would never have sent me to the door. He would have bought their whole supply and hoarded all the sugary goodness for himself.
The door is shut, which is weird. When I pull it open, I come face to face with a woman who steals the breath out of my lungs like a knock upside the head with a frying pan. She’s that gorgeous—strawberry blonde with a heart-shaped face. She’s tall but with slim-lined curves, and she’s carefully dressed in a black pencil skirt and a blouse so flawless and white that it makes me want to touch it just to see if it would wrinkle or remain immaculate. That blouse might be my spirit animal. Also? I can just barely discern the hint of white lace beneath because even though it’s buttoned way up, it’s a little bit sheer.
I have to clear my throat, and I barely manage not to sway backward a step as whoever that lady is, blinks huge, crystal-blue eyes at me. Periwinkle blue, cobalt, cornflower. Azul? They’re so blue that it’s impossible to define the blueness.
Suddenly, her hand thrusts out from her side, and I realize she’s holding something there—a brown envelope, one of those big bastard ones where you stuff papers in without folding them. She very calmly, without blinking even though she’s looking at me the whole time, flips the flap and pulls out a thick stack of white papers. Then, she thrusts her hand out, shoving them into the air between us.
“You’re a hard man to track down, Orion Von Rippenstein, but here we are at last.” She waves the papers, and they make a rustling noise as they rush through the air, crinkling softly. “I need you to sign these.”
I know better than to touch a thick stack of something random being thrust into my face by a total stranger, no matter how pretty she might be.
Dang, her eyes are so, so gorgeous.
Is it possible she’s actually an angel or a selkie or something in disguise, and she’s my spirit animal? No? Okay, just wondering because those eyes of hers are otherworldly. They’re sparkly and intense, shining with intelligence and purpose.
“Um, what are those?” That’s all I can muster up with my very dry, shocked throat. “Just so you know, I’m not signing anything until I’ve read it.” Suddenly, it hit me that this woman, this total stunner of a stranger, used my real name. Not one of the many fake names I’ve dropped or assumed in the past but my real name. And I never, ever—cross my heart and hope to die—EVER give that out.
She gives me a perfectly bland look that is about seven steps up from my poker face—my poker face is nothing to be trifled with—and gah, my heart skips eight beats and punches me hard in the stomach and knees at the same time. She thrusts the papers out another inch at my face and gives me the oddest smile.