Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
He sighs like, At least you know the score.
While we eat, we talk about my mom’s upcoming buying trip. She booked it for two weeks after Conrad and Hannah’s wedding. She’s on the hunt for antiques in Venice this time, and my dad is planning to join her.
“You could come too. I’d approve the time off.”
I shake my head.
Venice sounds great. Who wouldn’t want to go to Venice? But I’m in my first year at the firm and it’s important that I stick with my current schedule. I know that might seem crazy to some people—to pass up opportunities like extra time off—but this is the path I’ve chosen, the life I want.
My dad sets down his nearly finished salad on the edge of my desk, wipes his mouth with his napkin, and then leans back in his chair. He looks around the office, studies me, smiles. I can tell he’s getting contemplative even before he starts. “I’m proud of you.”
I roll my eyes, trying to deflect.
“I mean it. I’ll be the first to admit I underestimated you, but you’ve really started to make a name for yourself here. On Hudson’s team, no less. That’s no easy feat.”
I busy myself by picking at the remaining feta cheese left in the corners of my to-go container. “It hasn’t even felt like a hardship. I like this job.”
He studies me long enough that I’m forced to meet his gaze. “I know. Sorry for not realizing that before.”
Emotion tightens my chest. “So you approve of me working here now?”
He frowns. “My concern was always about your happiness. I didn’t want you sticking it out here out of some misplaced need to impress me. Barrett’s a little bit like that. I think had I gone easier on him, given him the chance, he would have taken a different path. He loved filmmaking in college, and I squashed that dream.” He grunts as if there’s nothing he can do now but shake his head and move on. “I regret it, and maybe I was trying to right that wrong through you…keep you from going down a difficult path you didn’t choose for yourself.”
It’s a good point. I’ll never know if I was born with an innate love of contracts and legalese or if my interest in the law profession is intrinsically tied to my relationship with my father. I don’t consciously feel a burning desire to please anybody but myself, but I’m also the youngest child, the only girl, and I know that comes with consequences, good and bad. Either way, there’s no way to separate myself from my profession now. It’s in me, of me, the way anybody loves anything. There’s never one specific reason why you enjoy something.
I’m considering this when Hudson comes to mind. We were in his office together just this morning. Ripping clothes off, sinking our teeth into each other. Even still, I walked out of there feeling confident in our ending, and now, hours later, it’s already started again. The hunger. The hope.
“You okay, kiddo?” my dad asks.
I shake my head, force a smile. “Yeah. Just thinking…”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hudson
It’s been twenty-four hours since Scarlett and I had sex in my office, and I can no longer ignore that I’ve come down with a case of something pretty serious.
Even still, I put on my big boy pants and get my ass to work. I never take time off. I don’t even know how someone would go about doing that. I did have Lucy postpone my 9:00 a.m. meeting though. I’m lying flat on the couch in my office, and she’s at my desk, typing my symptoms into WebMD for me.
I have her really worried. I once had the flu and food poisoning at the same time and I worked straight through, no complaints. I just barked orders at people through my closed office door and holed myself up in my bathroom whenever it was required. I was probably more productive actually because no one could come in and bother me.
What I have now is worse. Bad enough that I’m laid up on the couch, not working—which must mean I’m on my death bed.
Lucy has taken necessary precautions. She’s wearing yellow oversized cleaning gloves she found under the sink in my bathroom, a face mask she dug out of the bottom of her purse, and sunglasses.
“When was the onset of symptoms? Within the last twenty-four hours?”
I think on it. “No. It’s been gradual.”
She hisses like that’s not what she was hoping to hear. “And you said your stomach is hurting?”
“Yeah, and my head is a little fuzzy. It’s hard for me to concentrate. General malaise, issues with sleeping—”
“Slow down. General mala-what-now?”
I say it all again, slower, spelling things out when I need to.
I never realized how slow Lucy types. Every keyboard click comes with a ten-second delay. She must be falling asleep between each one.