Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
I nod. “Until I was thirteen. I attended a private school in Finland, and after that, I spent a couple of years in Switzerland.”
Camille seems to relax, her green eyes bright with interest where they’re glued to my face. “Do you like traveling?”
“It loses its appeal after a while,” I admit.
Honestly, I plan on retiring at forty-five and finding an island or a cabin in the woods where I don’t have to interact with people unless it’s during a trip for supplies.
She draws my attention back to the conversation with her next question. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“Really?” she gasps. “You look younger. I thought you were thirty-three-ish.”
I drink the last of my coffee then start to load the dishwasher with the plates and cups littering the counter.
“You don’t have to do that.”
I almost let out a chuckle but quickly suppress it. “Judging by your bedroom, you’re not a fan of chores. I like things neat, so I’ll keep the place clean.”
I feel Camille’s eyes burning on me, and when I look at her, it’s to see anger tightening her features.
She seethes for a moment before she snaps, “I didn’t ask for any of this. I’m happy with my life and don’t need you criticizing it. If I want to do dishes every other night and leave my clothes lying around, then that’s what I’ll do.” Standing up, she walks away before stopping and laying into me. “I was happy. I could do what I wanted in my own space, and now I have to share it with a mountain that’s colder than the North Pole.”
When she pauses to take a breath, the corner of my mouth lifts, and I mutter, “I was starting to worry you didn’t have a backbone.”
Shock flutters over her features, and she blinks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Seriously?” She takes a step closer to me. “My entire life has been turned on its head, and you’re worried I don’t have a backbone?” A look of disgust pulls at her mouth. “You can go to hell.”
Camille spins around and hightails it out of the kitchen, then I hear her mumble, “What the actual fuck? I can’t believe this.”
I continue to load the dishwasher and wipe off the counters. Just as I complete the chore, Camille comes barreling back into the kitchen.
Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes shimmer, giving me the impression she’s trying hard not to cry.
“I didn’t ask for any of this. I love my privacy. It’s something I need so I can cope with all the fake shit in my life. My home is the one place I don’t have to pretend I’m something I’m not. I tried to be welcoming and even pleasant toward you, but if you’re going to judge how I choose to live, you can leave.”
When she’s done with her rant, I say, “I wasn’t judging you. I said I’ll take care of the cleaning.”
“You said by the state of my bedroom it’s clear I don’t like chores,” she hits back.
“It was an observation I made.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and commences to have a stare-off with me.
Her eyes turn dark green when she’s upset. It’s pretty.
After an awkward minute, she lets out a huff. “I have a backbone. I just choose not to throw a fit over every little thing that goes wrong.”
“Noted.”
It’s something I like about her. She’s not full of shit like most socialites.
Again frustration flutters over her features then it looks like the fight drains from her. “I’m trying to make the best of a bad situation. Today is very stressful. It’s no fun finding out someone wants to kill me, and now I have you in my space all the time. It’s a lot to process, and now I have to worry whether you feel comfortable. All I want to do is eat my body weight in snacks while watching TV.”
Christ. Communicating with people isn’t a skill I possess. Unless I’m torturing some fuck to get information out of him.
Leaning back against the counter, I lock eyes with Camille. “This is a job, Camille. I don’t expect you to entertain me. Grab all the snacks you want and go watch TV.”
Again her eyebrows furrow with frustration, but instead of saying anything else, she helps herself to a packet of ham and cheese chips, a packet of salt and vinegar Lays, and a chocolate bar, then comes to the fridge to grab a soda before leaving the kitchen.
Why does it feel like I fucked up?
Chapter 5
Cami
God, it feels like I’m trying to communicate with a brick wall.
I switch on the TV and continue watching Big Bang Theory. I love comedies and sitcoms, and this is probably the fourth time I’m watching this show.
Opening the pack of Lays chips, I start to eat while doing my best to focus on the TV. The moment Max comes out of the kitchen, my eyes are drawn to him.