Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 38276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38276 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
“It figures,” I say, frowning.
“What’s going on?” Emilia asks, staring at me.
I flop backward onto my bed, staring up at my ceiling. The spackle is starting to fade to a yellowish color and not the cheery kind in the kitchen. It needs to be painted. I make a mental note to buy paint soon. If I leave it for my dad to do, it will never get done.
I let out a heavy breath. “Callan called like two weeks ago and asked me out. I all but hung up on him. He’s sent flowers just about every day since—all containing notes asking me out.” I finally glance over at Emilia who is slack jawed as she stares at me.
“Wow! That’s a lot! How come you didn’t tell me?” she asks, a little put off.
“I was kind of mad at you because he must’ve gotten my number and address from you,” I tell her, expecting her to spill the beans.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Emilia insists.
“Then how did he get my number, Emmie?”
“Probably from Niko. He keeps the information on everyone I care about—really anyone that’s around me,” she says. “It made me angry when I found out about it, but it’s not like Niko listens to me anyway. He told me he wanted to know everyone in my life so he could protect me from getting hurt.”
I let out a low whistle. “Geez! He really is over the top, isn’t he?”
“I’ve been telling you that,” Emilia says, letting out a heavy breath that sounds sad.
“Are you going to say yes to Callan?” she questions. I can’t tell if she’s curious or excited.
“No. He thinks I’m rich and cultured like all the women he’s used to. I don’t fit in his world. Besides, can you see Callan in this house having Sunday dinner with my dad and me?”
“I love this house. It’s warm and full of love. It’s something my icebox of a house never could be. Money doesn’t buy that.”
She lays down beside me and I grab her hand. I clutch it tightly as she squeezes mine back.
“You know, there’s something you haven’t thought about, though,” Emilia says.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Niko’s folders are complete, and when I say that, I mean full-blown recon, complete. It’s likely Callan already knows everything about you, yet he’s still calling and being persistent. You may be selling him short.”
“Yeah, but a player doesn’t care about that kind of thing, and maybe he likes the chase. He wants to get laid, and all signs, including his lines, point to Callan being that kind of man.”
“You never know if you don’t take a chance.”
I sigh and close my eyes. I know in my heart that I want to say yes to him. I’m scared. I hate that I am because I’m not the type to let fear rule me. I’ve just never been attracted to a man like I am to Callan. I just don’t think I’m ready to figure out what that even means.
Especially if he has the power to hurt my heart…
Chapter 8
Callan
Pulling up outside the diner in Crescent City, I wonder for the millionth time if I should have stayed away. The problem is that Zoe hasn’t responded to any of my notes or flowers. She stopped answering her phone after the first call. That should be a sign for me to walk away. It would be the smart thing to do.
It turns out where Zoe Cooper is involved, I’m not ready to give up.
Still, I know I’m on thin ice here. She will undoubtedly give me hell when she sees me here at her work. Hell, I’m being a damn stalker, but I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to her. I want this woman. I need more time with her. Shit, the truth is, I want everything I can think of when it comes to Zoe. I will take anything she’s willing to give me.
I get out of my car and walk into the diner before I can talk myself out of it. I grab a booth as I glance around, bummed when I don’t see her. The disappointment feels heavy in my gut.
Before I have a chance to get up and leave, a waitress comes over, handing me a menu. “What can I get you to drink?” she asks. She seems friendly enough and is wearing a smile that doesn’t appear fake.
“Coffee is fine, thank you.”
“Today’s special is spaghetti with garlic bread and a side salad,” she counters.
“I’m not that hungry,” I tell her as I hand the menu back.
“That’s a shame. We have Zoe’s homemade apple pie today,” she says, tucking her little notebook back into her apron.
“Zoe’s?” I ask as my heart starts to race.
“Yeah, she’s a waitress here too, but she makes all the desserts.”
“Okay then. I’ll take a slice of that with my coffee.”