Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Jenn looks at me slowly. “Before you decide, maybe you should talk to him.”
“What?”
“You could call him,” she says again. “Ask for more deets about what he’s so worried about?”
“Since I left, he’s sent one text, Jenn. And that was just asking if I’d be working tomorrow. I’m not calling him unless he gets down on one knee. He knows where to find me.”
She sighs, sinking down in her seat.
“You’re right, but this sucks. I’ve never seen you so down before. But maybe you should cut him out and just focus on your dad.”
With a shrug, I set the ice cream pint on the coffee table in front of me and pull my knees up to my chest, hugging my legs.
“What else is wrong? Besides, um, everything,” Jenn asks with a sad look.
“I’m glad Dad’s feeling better, but I hate that Brock paid for it. I don’t want a permanent connection to that jackass.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” she says.
“What’s the other?” I ask.
“Most heartbreaks just end with nothing to show for them. But yours may have bought you more time with your dad.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Hard to believe he sent your dad off for a rare treatment that he paid for and had his driver tag along if he doesn’t care about you.”
I shake my head fiercely, not wanting to give in.
“But you’re thinking like us. You know, poor people. Money is nothing for Brock. He doesn’t care.”
“Then why would he step up and do it?”
I shrug.
Because he was caught up in the same impossible fantasy—and now we’re both spinning back to Earth.
With tiredness overwhelming me again, we veg out in front of Netflix until I pass out on the sofa again.
The next time I open my eyes, there’s a dull grey light streaming in and faint traffic noise.
Jenn is up, plodding around and getting ready for work.
She steps out of her bedroom in a black pencil skirt with a white blouse and blazer. “Morning. Are you going to be okay alone? Should I call in sick? I’m always down for a mental health day.”
“I’ll live, but thanks. Save your PTO.”
A couple hours later, my phone vibrates, pulling me from another rough sleep.
Please be Brock. Please be Brock.
It takes a few seconds to check my own desperation.
How pathetic.
Good thing, too, because when I glance at the screen, it’s not the king of all jerkwads.
Jenn: I don’t know if this makes you feel better, but he looks like total shit today.
It helps.
A little.
Just not enough to peel my potato body off this couch so I can eat or shower. It’s more like a shot in the gums. It numbs the pain that’s still coming.
A second text comes through.
Jenn: I hear him yelling at everyone, and he keeps walking by your desk like he’s just waiting for you to show.
But the third message is the best by far about an hour later.
Jenn: Aaand he just asked me if you’re out sick. I told him you moved to Fiji with your rich travel boyfriend from TikTok. He stormed off to his office, swearing under his breath.
You’re awesome, I send back with a laughing emoji.
Brock Winthrope stole my heart and pulverized it.
I won’t let him steal my happiness. I learned a trick after Mom left to help cope with losing her and later, Dad’s health issues.
I take out my phone and open a blank notepad so I can start making a list.
I’m thankful for: 1. My awesome family 2. Dad getting better. 3. Jenn and her ice cream therapy. 4. I’m still alive. 5. …
Ugh.
After staring at the screen for five minutes, I give up.
It’s not working its usual magic when every last possibility begins and ends with Brock damn Winthrope.
24
Ghost Of Yesterday (Brock)
“Captain Winthrope, hello? Are you home?” Keenan opens his mouth and bangs on his head, waving a hand at my face.
I look up from staring out at the lifeless cityscape below, wondering where the fuck summer went behind this blanket of grey clouds.
“I’m here, and you’re losing your next bonus if you don’t knock it off,” I snap.
“So you’d like to approve it then?” His eyebrows dart up.
“Approve what?” I glance at my phone again to see if there’s any word from Piper.
Of course not.
Not after the shit you pulled, genius.
Keenan rolls his eyes. “Bossman, were you even listening? The final menu for the fashion conference?”
Right.
“Isn’t that the hotel manager’s job?” I slide fitfully into my chair.
“You wanted the personal touch, remember? With the whole Finch thing and the award coming up, you told me you wanted to pick through everything one last time. Keep up.” For once, he’s not his usual smarmy self. Keenan looks genuinely worried every time he looks at me.
Where the hell is my mind? But I already know.
“Yes,” I lie. “It’s approved.”