Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
I head over and skim the pages, unable to concentrate. We’re producing a documentary on garbage. Glamorous, I know, but trust me, it’s good. I’m proud of our concept.
Can’t say I’m as proud of how things went down yesterday.
My gut roils as I remember the look on Sara’s face when I told her. Her eyes shone with terrible emotions, and I was the cause. I hated myself right then. I thought I was the victim when Cordelia fucked me over. But what am I doing with Sara?
When the door shut behind her, my heart was stampeding, my lungs, my legs, my arms tensing in anticipation.
Because I wanted to chase after her.
I still plan to.
I know how to get her number. My grandmother would never deny me anything. If Sara doesn’t want to see me again, I’ll understand. I’ll at least make it up to her in some way.
I’m wrapping up reading the new script when my cell phone rings and Wahlberg’s name appears on my screen. I lean back in my chair and tap to answer.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve got good news. We’ve had the talk with your accountant like you requested. Threatened to remove your business if he didn’t come forward with the truth. And he’s willing to testify to his affair with your wife.”
“Good. Finally there’s something.” I run my hand along the back of my neck, suddenly tense with the anticipation. I need this circus over with. “Call Cordelia. Let her know the minute details of the situation and tell her my offer for the house and half my money still stands. I just want to get this over with at last.”
“I’ll update you.”
I hang up, almost reluctant to believe that it’s finally coming to an end.
I want to be free of her and the constraints she keeps binding around me. I want her out of my life. I don’t forgive betrayal easily. I surround myself with few people, but those who I keep close mean more to me than anything. I will never forget a betrayal. Nor would I ever betray or lie to one of my own the way she did me.
Pushing that thought away, I jump back to the matter at the forefront of my mind since last night, and I dial my grandmother.
“How’s my girl?” I ask when she answers.
“Oh, Ian.” She giggles. “Am I seeing you for dinner as planned?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m making meatballs, your favorite.”
“I’m salivating already. Listen, Gran. How about you call the dog walker, Sara, so she and I can take Milly out for you tonight?”
“She was coming this afternoon for Milly’s walk. I was planning to cook your meatballs while they were out.”
“Good. Something’s come up at the office and I’ll be free early.”
“Ian Ford!” she chides before I can end the call.
Reluctantly, I raise the phone back up. “What?”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. I want you to know that I fully, wholeheartedly, very thoroughly… approve.”
I smile, relieved, and run my hand over my jaw. I don’t want her to get her hopes up. I’m still not eager to jump back into a relationship, not after the last one I had. But I crave Sara in a way I haven’t craved anything but work for a long, long time.
I owe it to myself to find out why she has this effect on me.
I will buy myself some time with her, somehow. Some way.
If only Sara thought of me half as positively as my grandmother does, it might even be easy to ask her out for an evening.
Fuck if I haven’t looked forward to a date in a long time.
MRS. FORD
Sara
I’m dog-walking for Mrs. Ford this evening, and I can’t help but dread what I have to say. But there’s really no choice, is there? I can’t risk bumping into him. Not when I’m not certain yet of what there is between us, or if there can even be anything serious between us. I need space and I need to think, and one thing I know for certain is that Ian doesn’t let me think at all. But the fact that I may not see him ever again fucks me up quite a bit. Guest in room 1103. Handsome and almost like some dream, gone before I could hardly remember, but definitely addictive.
It seems the guy is not only on my mind, because he’s the first thing Mrs. Ford mentions when I walk into her apartment that evening. “My grandson hasn’t been in town for a while. He’s going through a very ugly divorce.”
“Oh.”
“It’s been going on for a while, but that little tramp he married just can’t let go.” She shakes her head. “That’s what he gets for marrying a woman more interested in his money than his happiness.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a film producer. Mostly documentaries. He travels for work a lot. I admit he doesn’t like being in the city anymore, and with good reason!”