Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
I thought I was a pretty good judge of character. I've never been more wrong about someone in my life. That stings. I trusted him enough to sleep with him, something I've never done. And the whole time, I was just a joke to him. There are no words to describe how that feels.
I don't want to talk to him. I never want to see him again. And I'm absolutely not going to that interview Monday. Whatever pleasure he hoped to get out of humiliating me, he isn't getting.
He can go kick rocks.
I'll be right here. Wallowing until I come up with a better plan.
"You can't stay in bed forever," Serena says.
"Watch me." I grab the only pillow remaining on the bed and drag it up over my head. "Do not steal this one, Serena. I mean it."
"Fine," she sighs. "I'll leave you to be sad and miserable while I go buy ice cream and find us a movie."
I tug the pillow down to look at her. "You should go out."
"And leave you here to be sad and miserable alone?" She shoots me a patented Serena look. "No way. If you're wallowing, I'm wallowing."
I smile despite myself. "Are we pigs now?"
Her nose wrinkles. "I do not love that comparison, Peyton."
"I just meant they wallow. They're social. They love being in groups…" I roll my eyes at her. "You know damn well there is nothing piglike about you." I pause, frowning. "Actually, that's not true. You're a lot like a pig in all the best ways."
She narrows her eyes on me. "And now you're getting pistachio ice cream."
"It was a compliment! Pigs are intelligent, playful, clean freaks. Like you." I smirk, batting my lashes at her.
"Only in your weird brain is that a compliment," she mutters.
"So you admit it is a compliment in my weird brain."
"Shut up." She smiles at me.
"I love you too."
"Pistachio ice cream."
"You hate me. Understood."
She laughs evilly, spinning on her heel. I watch her practically dance from my bedroom before I pull the pillow back up over my face with a groan.
Being a pig would be so much easier.
I bet male pigs aren't total dicks like Logan Moreno.
"Uh, Peyton?"
"My wallet is by the door," I mumble without even moving the pillow.
"Logan is here."
I sit up so fast my head spins. "What?"
Serena stares at me with wide eyes. "I practically ran into him on my way out the door." She grimaces. "He asked to talk to you."
"Did you tell him to go away?"
"Yes." She bites her bottom lip. "He brought flowers."
"Of course he did." I scowl, hopping up from the bed. Of all the freaking nerve… He really thinks he can just show up here with flowers and reel me back in? Absolutely not.
I march toward the bedroom door, ready to kick his proverbial ass, but Serena quickly jumps in front of me.
"Maybe you should change first?" she suggests. "Or at least brush your hair?"
I glance down at my nightie and then shrug. She's probably right. But he isn't worth the effort. I can kick his ass in a nightgown with my hair messed up. And be back in bed in five minutes. Win-win.
"Nope," I say, gently steering her out of my way. "I am not putting on a bra for him."
"Oh boy," she mumbles behind me.
I march through our apartment, gathering righteous indignation around me like armor.
How dare he show up here?
How does he even know where I live?
I practically rip the door off the hinges, my gaze landing on him. He's leaning against the banister with his head bowed. For a second, I forget that I'm mad as hell because he actually looks…wrecked. Like his world is caving in. And then he lifts his head, his gaze raking down my body. When they darken, I wish we were back in his house again. And I wish I had launched myself over the sofa to strangle the truth out of him.
"I thought you looked good naked," he rasps, lifting his gaze to mine. "But goddamn, angel. You look even better in that nightgown."
He just can't help himself, can he?
"Leave," I growl. "Now." My gaze falls on the massive arrangement at his feet. "And take your gaslighting flowers with you."
"Gaslighting flowers?" His lips twitch. "What the fuck species of flower is that, angel?"
"How did you even get my address, Logan?" I hold up a hand before he can respond. "Let me guess, you got it from my application, right?"
"You going to quit being pissed if I say yes?"
"You're the one in need of an assistant, aren't you?"
He actually manages to look regretful. "I was going to tell you."
"Right," I snort. "Just like I'm sure you were going to tell me that you're married and have a kid."
"I'm not fucking married," he growls, taking a step toward me. "And Lachlan isn't mine."