Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 18063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 90(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
“I know. It’s so funny, because he can put up a commercial one with apartments in it or office space and it’s not an issue. But you put up one for a charity or nonprofit—everyone freaks out.”
“Well, I’m sure some of it is the city thinking that heaven forbid Mr. Sutter goes bankrupt. Who then would take care of maintenance and upkeep of the building?”
“No, I know, but what are the chances of billionaires losing all their money? I mean, that’s nutty, right?”
“I’m sure it’s happened to someone,” I said distractedly, taking a right onto a lovely street that I could tell was picturesque even in the dark because of all the trees. It was one of those places that came to mind when you thought about fall and Halloween and Thanksgiving, with the leaves and the homes with wrap-around porches and decorations everywhere. When I was growing up, alone, it was what I had always dreamed of. “Where… which house am I stopping at?”
“He’s right there,” she said, pointing over my shoulder to the left.
Instantly, the warning bells in my head went off. “Who is that?”
No answer.
“Hannah.”
She cleared her throat. “It’s not a blind date,” she said cheerfully. “I would not be on a blind date with you.”
That was true, but I stopped the car in the middle of the street anyway.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
I wasn’t actually worried about her setting me up, I would see that coming a mile away. But this deception, this ambush, I’d missed because I hadn’t considered, not once, that she was this devious.
“It’s my therapist, Dr. Kurt Butler.”
I knew who it bloody well had to be, and the man in question was, at the very moment, standing on the curb, looking undecided. Clearly, I had stopped but not pulled over. Was he supposed to walk out in the middle of the street?
“If he runs out here and gets killed by someone driving by or someone whipping around you, you’re gonna feel really bad,” she assured me haughtily.
Growling, I pulled over, a car length down from where he was standing, and double-parked beside a Lexus. I didn’t get out. I wasn’t a damn chauffeur; I was the bodyguard.
“Oh dear God,” Hannah groused at me, sliding across the back seat and opening the rear driver side door. “It’s just good manners to open the door. It doesn’t mean you’re my driver, which, technically, you are.”
“I protect you; I don’t drive you,” I clarified, even though she was right and I was wrong. I both drove her and guarded her because it was efficient. A chauffeur wasn’t usually strapped, and since Hannah didn’t need both, she had a twofer with me.
As the man got in quickly and closed the door, I could smell the chilled autumn air that came with him, as well as a warm citrus scent that I inhaled deeply before I could stop myself. He smelled good, and normally I would have said so, but nothing about this was okay.
“I wasn’t sure what was happening for a moment there,” he said jovially, and in the rearview mirror I saw him turn and smile at Hannah. “But thank you both for picking me up.”
I was silent as Hannah beamed at the man. “I’m so glad you could come. I know the fundraiser will be a great place for you to meet new peers and reconnect with old colleagues.”
He chuckled, and of course it was a warm sound. “You know, sometimes I forget that you’re only seventeen.”
“I’ll be eighteen in three weeks,” she reminded him. “A fully-fledged adult, though I can’t imagine I’ll feel any different than I do now.”
“Well,” he began, his voice husky and low, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Most of us never actually feel like adults, and some of us should continue to be supervised.”
She laughed, and I smiled until I remembered I was pissed at her and went back to scowling.
“Okay, so this is my bodyguard, George Hunt,” she announced, leaning forward and putting her hand on my shoulder like we weren’t in the middle of this whole thing. I would have smacked the hand away, but it was a bit too childish. I shrugged it off instead.
She growled and shoved back in her seat hard, arms crossed.
“Something going on?” Dr. Butler asked.
She cleared her throat. “I might have overstepped.”
“I see,” he acknowledged and then leaned forward to offer me his hand over the seat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hunt. I’ve heard so much about you and, as you know, I wanted to meet you as well as Hannah’s father.”
“Why?” I asked, not giving him my hand because what even was that? Who shook over the front seat of a car?
“I’m sorry?” He sounded confused, and when I glanced at him before I pulled away from the curb, he was squinting.