Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Whatever it is, I do know John is right about one thing. You never get over a loved one being gone. Never.
Also, he didn’t straight up tell me that I should turn around and get on the next flight back to Atlanta because all of this is, without a doubt, trouble, so that’s a bonus. I think.
“I’ll give you my address, Aspen. In case things don’t work out and you need a place to stay, or in case you need any help at all, you look me up, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I have a landline. Do you know what that is?”
I chuckle. “Yes, John, I know what that is.”
“You can call that.”
“Alright.” Darn it, my tears are going to get the best of me again. This sweet old soul will probably never know what this means to me. But then again, he probably does. “Thank you.” It’s so inadequate, but it’s the best I can do.
I don’t let go of John’s hand until we’ve landed. He doesn’t let go of mine either.
Chapter two
Aspen
Within the first few seconds of ringing a doorbell on a house that falls under the category of serious freaking real estate, at least in my mind, because it’s huge and grand and must have cost a fortune and not at all what I expected, I know I’ve made a mistake.
As soon as the massive, modern, black-paneled door swings open and I meet with a set of frigid dark eyes, a steel jaw, and the rapid-fire pinging of a vein in a proud forehead, it’s obvious I’ve landed in the grumpiest of grumpy pants patches.
I’ve bunged this up. No, not bunged. Bungled. I can’t even get that right.
I know Patrick McDonald knows.
He must have gotten a letter too. At least it saves me from having to explain myself. Still, I have to be sure this guy is him. Because he looks like he’s not. He’s not the middle-class, laughing-eyed hero of a gentleman that I expected Jace to be as close as brothers with. He’s not the man I would have ever imagined my brother picking out for me. He’s too…cold. The burst of air flying past the open door out of the house is more than just good AC. Yeah, that air is not radiating from the house. All that cold is coming straight off of him. He looks like the kind of guy who would wear a severe suit and do up the top button and tie all the way just because it’s a stick-in-the-ass thing to do, and he wants everyone to realize his stick in the assness and not be happy in his presence because he finds it irksome.
The glare he’s shooting my way is enough to ward off any sort of lightheartedness.
He’s not wearing a suit or a shirt with buttons, but he is clad entirely in black. Black Henley. Black jeans. I think it might be the chosen outfit of superspies when they’re grumping through their forced downtime.
Not that this guy’s downtime or retirement is forced. He left, Jace said. And for the record, something about him tells me he’s never worn a suit in his life.
Also, he’s not a spy. Jace wasn’t a spy either. They worked together. I got the right house and the right guy. I know I did.
“Patrick McDonald?” Yup, my voice trembles like I’m hoping I didn’t.
He gives me a tight nod. “Jace’s little sister,” he grunts grumpily. “You’re here because he wanted you to be here, but you need to turn around and go right back home.” He points behind me like that direction is Atlanta. Maybe it is. God, I’m terrible as a human compass.
“I can’t go back home. I got a letter. You got a letter too.”
Christ. How did Jace think I could marry this guy? There is nothing but more frigid air wafting around between us, and it’s going to tornado up because I’m a happy, easy-going, welcoming person who has warm vibes. Warm and cold don’t mix well. There is a total lack of chemistry happening right now. No zapping wild energy going through the air, no lab compounds mixing, and no my body liking his body on a primal, animal level.
“You need to forget all of that,” Patrick growls. “This is not a thing. Oh, freaking no…” He trails off, whistling low in his throat. “No, this is not a thing. This is never going to be a thing. Do you have any idea the kind of man your brother entrusted you to?” I’m honestly starting to wonder. “If you did, you wouldn’t have come.”
Well, that certainly sounds ominous. A bit dramatic too. I might not have the best people reading skills, but it seems to me that he’s trying too hard. Like he practiced this exact scary speech in case I should ever just show up here with the idea that we make good on my brother’s proposition.