Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 144(@200wpm)___ 115(@250wpm)___ 96(@300wpm)
I grinned over at him. “And I just wanted the torture to last a bit longer.”
“Shit.” He hung his head back and sighed, staring up at the ceiling, how was a person’s throat even pretty? “I was tortured the first minute I touched you, still under the same intoxicating spell.”
My head shot up, eyes locking on his. “What was that?”
“Puzzles. I hate them.” He seemed to mean something else, right? Was he talking about the room or me? “I hate what I can’t figure out, interest only lasts so long until frustration kicks in, anger, then finally, a broken heart, I think a little resentment tends to sneak in too, but what would I know? I don’t do puzzles.”
Was I a puzzle to him?
“Yes,” he answered without me even asking it out loud. “You’re the biggest puzzle of all time, one I still can’t solve, though part of me doesn’t want to. If I find solutions or answers to my questions, does that mean you simply leave? Do I? The risk and reward, they don’t balance out, do they? Because when doing a puzzle, you need two participants. You need the puzzle itself and you need the person willing to solve it—but what happens when it can’t be solved? The person gives up and the puzzle still has questions with no answers. Depressing, to say the very least.”
I was too stunned to speak. Why were my eyes filling up with tears? And why did he seem so sad that he still had questions, why did he allude to wanting to have answers even after so long?
“So…” Ace rubbed his hands together while I opened my mouth to ask him what he really meant. “The purple stapler, let’s find that first. He said beware, so I’m assuming there’s a clue somewhere by it, don’t pick it up, just search around it.”
I cleared my throat and walked away from him in search of the stapler. A messy desk was in the corner, a broken coffee maker on top of it with tons of files that said urgent and then, next to that, a broken pencil. Hmmm. I kept walking along the side of the room when I saw a Chinese takeout menu; it had several items circled on it, along with the price and total at the bottom.
“Nineteen eighty-seven.” I said it out loud and something clicked inside the desk as it opened.
“Whoa!” Ace rushed over. “Okay, so you said the clue out loud. That means we have to talk through the clues to find out how to escape, nineteen eighty-seven.” He frowned. “I mean, I could be wrong, but I think that’s when Max’s grandpa founded his third hotel in New York.”
“Manhattan?” I asked out loud.
Another lock sounded as the desk opened again, revealing a purple stapler and a picture of Max and his family. A beautiful elderly lady was circled in the photo with the number 2.
I sighed. “I really should have read up on his family before taking this job.”
“Yes.” Ace said in a bored tone. “Because all employees should know the history of the crazy one who hired them right down to his birthday and preference on cake, it’s carrot by the way, don’t ask.”
“Carrot cake? Really? Out of all the cakes?”
“Bro’s a legend for a reason.” He looked over my shoulder, put a hand on my hip, and leaned even further to look at the stapler. “They said beware.”
I couldn’t think.
All I had was Ace’s giant palm on my hip and a stapler that may or may not kill us staring up at me.
“Two.” Ace repeated, his breath on my neck. Was he doing this on purpose? I shivered and tried to focus. “And her face is circled, and we have a purple stapler. I’ve got nothing.”
“Two.” My voice was a hoarse whisper. “Was she second in charge? Maybe they have names on the back of the photo? Most old photos do.”
“Good idea.” He grabbed the frame and opened it, then turned over the old picture and sure enough, at number two was her name: Edith H. Emory the Second.
Ace handed me the picture, our fingers grazed, he paused, his eyes darted to my mouth before looking back at the wall. “A stapler. Well, if I was just going off the stapler, there was this rumor.”
“Rumor?”
“Yeah, like a story people tell when you get hired on to explain just how insane the family actually is.”
“Like people need an explanation. It’s evident on the daily, but continue… I’m intrigued now.” I yawned, afraid to check the timer on the wall, we would probably lose but at least I’d get a good story and alone time with him.
Why did it matter?
And why was I suddenly wanting to be closer to him? I wanted him to laugh, to be the same man he was before I broke him. He always used to laugh easily, wasn’t cynical, and never cared what people thought.