Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
I open the door wider. “Yes. Thank you.” He sets the four shopping bags on the dresser, lining them up in presentation. When he returns to the door, I realize I don’t have any tip to give him. I hate the feeling of shame that I succumb to. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any money to give you.”
Bowing his head briefly, he says, “Not necessary. Mr. Westcott already took care of it. Have a good day.”
Mr. Westcott did, did he?
I close the door and lean my back against it, not sure what to make of Loch. His moods are as mercurial as Edward Cullen's. How do I remember trivial things like Twilight but not my own life? Shouldn’t my life have left a more significant impact than a fictional character from a book? That says a lot about it, right?
Pushing off, I walk to the bags. Loch practically had me eating out of his hand, happily accepting any help he offered. He’s generous to a fault to a stranger with whom he only chatted briefly at a coffee shop. Or maybe he just likes flashing his wealth around.
But the change in his demeanor toward me still sticks in my mind. I know he was joking about the manager thinking I was a call girl, but the distraction seemed to work well for him to get me off the scent of the last name debacle. Was he truly bothered by choosing his own last name for me?
I huff, knowing I’m not cracking that nut anytime soon. As for the packages . . . I cheer up, feeling like it’s Christmas morning. I probably shouldn’t be this excited about clothes, but I’ll be thrilled not to have to put on that skirt again.
Based on the style of the outfit I wore to the hospital, I assume I enjoyed nice things. I add that tidbit to my growing list of clues that I hope can lead me to who I am.
Pulling the tissue from the bag, I drop it to the floor and discover a pair of black pants. I pull them out and hold them against my body. The flowy material hits just above my ankles when I hold them to my body. I raise an eyebrow, impressed. Very nice, Mr. Westcott. I’ll give him a point for choosing something that will go with pretty much any top I choose.
Next out of the bag is a white, silk, long-sleeve button-up blouse similar to the ruined one. It’s pretty. Another solid staple for a wardrobe, so great first pieces to add to mine. With the pants, a classic look. Both are from the same designer. Judging from the material and cut, I’m thinking these weren’t inexpensive like I asked.
I hang those in the small closet by the door, then open the next bag. Black leather flats tucked into a shoebox tied with a ribbon. Cute and a nice reprieve from the heels I already own.
Having other clothes than the ones I’ve been wearing is already a treat, but having nice things delivered that seem to be made for you feels indulgent. Such luxury. I’m wondering if this is something I was used to in my previous life.
I’m still curious as to how he got my sizes right when I don’t even know what they are.
The third bag has a cozy black coat that hits at my hips. I hadn’t even thought about needing a coat since I gave mine away. Being whisked from a warm Escalade to inside a hotel and then straight into a hot bath, I haven’t thought about the weather outside. I haven’t had to so far. Not sure how I feel about that.
If he hadn’t shown up when he did, would I have been able to stand on my own two feet?
I flip the tissue paper over my shoulder and then rummage through the last bag. There are packages of underwear and a few bras. When I hold them up, I can tell they’re not cheap—and when I see the price tag, I gasp in shock. And there are a few accessories added—like a beautiful YSL bag and a pair of gold earrings.
He spared no expense and was meticulous to ensure that I had literally everything I needed. Does he know what a woman truly needs?
Does he have a sister?
A girlfriend?
Or a wife?
Oh God, I hope he doesn’t have a wife.
My mind starts to wonder to my own life and who is in it. Wonder if I have any siblings?
I place the items in the closet. These luxuries remind me of the little bag of my jewelry the nurse gave me before I left—diamond earrings and a pendant necklace. I go to the skirt in the laundry bag where I’ve put it and dig the bag out of the pocket. Thank God.