Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
He flinches when I rub the saturated cotton ball over a particularly angry looking cut above his eye.
“Shit,” he mutters.
“I have to clean you up,” I say softly, with practiced patience. “It’ll be alright. I can look up—”
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Again.
And again.
I want to smack my forehead and groan.
The interview. I was halfway through an interview when I found out he was back, and I dropped everything. I’d had another one scheduled thirty minutes after that, and before now I’d never missed an appointment. It’s a point of pride with me that I’m dependable and hardworking, right on the verge of breaking out…
“I’ll be right back.”
I grab my phone out of my back pocket and run to the bathroom. When I flick it on, I see thirty missed messages. I’ve completely ignored them while sidetracked by Timeo’s arrival. Understandable, but still—
Shit. It’s my assistant, Maya:
Girl, do you have any idea how popular that video was? Starla, there are rumors going around!!
Wait, what?
I check through notifications and send her a reply.
There will always be rumors
I roll my eyes.
The next message is from Ruthie. Oh, God.
I let my followers know you were coming and you did not arrive. I don’t take being stood up very kindly. I do think it’s unlike you to take advantage of someone like me. I will assume for the moment that you had a family emergency, because I can’t imagine another reason why you didn’t come as promised.
I wince. Shit. I’m sending a quick message when I glance up through the bathroom doorway to see Timeo sitting up and looking over at me, scowling.
“Who are you talking to?”
“Uh, no one,” I lie. None of his business. Like I want anyone to know what the hell I do? Especially not Lieutenant Safety. “All good.”
I shoot a message to Ruthie.
I am so sorry. I had a family emergency and had to leave and there was no time to message you. I’m happy to make it up to you with another interview or something similar.
The message pops on that it was read but there’s no reply. Great.
I shove my phone in my pocket and walk back over to Timeo.
“What are you up to?” he asks, more curious than I’d have expected.
“It’s none of your business. Lay back down. You have bruised ribs.”
He grunts, his brows cinching together as if to remind me who he is. “Do Sergio and Eden know you’re hiding something?”
My pulse races. God. Why was I so eager to have Timeo back? He was the only one who ever saw through damn near anything. In two point three seconds, he’s already realized I’m hiding something.
“I think you’re delusional,” I tell him, pursing my lips at him. “Lay back down.” I press my hand to his chest and give him a little shove. Off balance, he falls back to the stretcher, hard. “There. Now let me take care of you.”
“I might have been taken prisoner,” he says in that deep, growly, affected voice of his that I missed every single goddamn day, hearing it only at night in my dreams. Every. Night. “But I haven’t had a personality transplant, sweetheart.”
Timeo.
A sudden, overwhelming feeling takes over and my breath catches. I lay my head beside him on the bed and close my eyes. I blink back tears at the sudden remembrance of what it felt like to be near him. To hear his voice. To talk to someone who sees me, actually sees me, for who I am.
His heavy hand rests on the back of my head, fingers gently flexing.
“You look different,” he says in a shaky, raspy voice. Just hearing him speak feels like coming home. “More…fuck, you’re actually all grown up, Starla.”
“I’ve been all grown up for a few years, Timeo,” I say, swiping at my eyes that insist on watering.
“Maybe I didn’t notice,” he says in a voice that tells me he absolutely did notice. “And you were a technical adult, yeah, but we both had a lot of growing up to do, didn’t we?”
He pulls his hand away. I raise my head and stare at him.
Did I imagine he was touching me just now? Do I want it so badly that I conjured up tenderness and familiarity where before there was none?
Does his “growing up” have to do with being captured and abused?
Which would be… honestly… a lot like mine…
“Timeo,” I say gently, tipping his head toward me so I can wipe the grime and blood from his face. “What can you tell me?”
Someone had him in their grasp. Someone hurt him.
He still hurts now.
Who?
Why?
And what will I do to bring my Timeo back?
“Leave it.”
I blink at the sudden change in temperature. “What?”
I flinch as if he slapped me.
“Excuse me?”
Timeo stares at me, a coldness in his eyes that’s unfamiliar to me. “Sergio told you. There’s a team here to take care of me.” His jaw clenches. “Go home, Starla.”