Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68390 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“So that’s why you were so worried about finding me and proving it was real.”
“Yes. They would have had a hard time proving it was fake. It would have been my word against theirs unless they got a hold of the contract, but Smitty would never give it up. I know I can trust him.” Two angry squirrels in a large tree across the street fill up the fairly quiet morning with a rapid burst of sudden chatter. “I’m not one of those people who live in the spotlight. I’m more behind the scenes, and even if some artists I’ve discovered, signed, and helped along the way are famous now, no one cares about the head of their label. I always wanted to remain unseen, and so I am, for the most part. I do meetings all over the world, and I have enough money now, so privacy isn’t an issue. My cousins know that. For a guy who was always half in the shadows and half living secrets before my aunt passed, it wasn’t much of a stretch to figure I did have a girlfriend and would never usher her into the fame I myself didn’t want. I guess my desire to go unnoticed was a stroke of massive luck.”
Weland stops again. She drops the leash, steps on it even though Beans stops too—the most alert dog to his owner’s commands I’ve ever met, and he barely even knows her—and thrusts her hands onto her hips. It pulls her sweater a little bit tighter over her chest, revealing curves and the swells of her breasts, and I have to pull my eyes away. My dick jumps to life, yet another reminder that all parts of me have spent years and years working and cherishing my privacy.
“Why now? Why did you just suddenly decide that now, of all times, you want to make it real?”
I’m at a loss here. I still haven’t answered that for myself. It’s not going to be adequate, but I give her the only answer I have. “Because no one who met you in person and saw your smile and heard your laugh and basked in your light could ever turn around and go back to the shadows and pretend like it never happened.”
Chapter eleven
Weland
Iguess I’m riding on the hot mess express right now. It’s something to do with the inner cavewoman coming out and distracting the hell out of my normally rational brain because there’s a delicious man in my kitchen, and his presence is giving me all the tingles in all the spots.
After our walk, we came back to my condo, and I attempted to make breakfast for us—attempted being the keyword here. But after the eggs nearly caught on fire and the bacon sizzled down to little burnt crisps, I decided I was too distracted to cook and instead went with what I knew.
I could literally make these marshmallow peanut butter squares blindfolded. Not that I want to try. It’s hot and scary in the kitchen, and I wouldn’t actually like to do it without being able to see. You’d think this would involve a higher degree of don’t fuck up than bacon and eggs, but apparently not.
I’m just melting the peanut butter and butterscotch chips into a big pot when Sterling walks into the kitchen, pulls out a chair, and sits at the table.
There goes my ovaries.
There goes my nipples.
There goes my cooking skills.
I nearly fling the butterscotch mix out of the pot and onto the wall when he rakes a hand through his hair. He looks uncertain, kind of stressed, a little bit sad, and slightly lost. I don’t even know if he realizes his face is showing all the stuff he’s not used to letting anyone see.
Now that I know a little bit about how he grew up, given his life story crash course, I get why he’s been guarded. Granted, it’s all self-proclaimed, and I have to take his word for it, but I believe him. He could lie to me, but why would he at this point? I feel like the second we literally bumped into each other at the club, our lives took a different course. I’ve been going over everything in my head, and it’s so overwhelming.
“If you could be anything in life, would you be what you are right now?” I have to ask something to break up the silence that’s descended over the kitchen. Listening to myself cook and stir and Beans’ soft snores from the couch are just too quiet.
“I think so. I love what I do. It’s not just about the money. It’s always been about the fact that I’m good at it and I enjoy it. The music. Making people’s dreams come alive. It’s a good feeling.” Sterling raises his head, and I find myself melting like the butterscotch chips in my pot when under his butterscotch gaze. “What about you?”