Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
My jaw tensed and I met her eyes. “No. If you really want to be so stubborn, fine. You can drive me to the party.”
“Great. The interview starts in my car. I think there’s a chance you might loosen up on the road. I’ve got to take every advantage I can get since somebody likes to be so tight-lipped.” She got up, raised her eyebrows, and shrugged. “I’m assuming you’ll be here till seven, right?”
“Correct,” I grated.
“Great. I’ll text you when I get here. Put your number in my phone.” She set her phone on my desk and pushed it toward me with her index finger. Her nail had once been teal but the paint was mostly chipped off and the nail was bit down to the quick. Her phone screen wasn’t in much better shape. It was cracked from what looked like multiple accidents.
I should’ve been appalled by the whole package from the fingernails to the screen. They were dead giveaways that she was a nervous wreck and clumsy. Instead, it just reminded me how temptingly real she was. She didn’t hide behind plastic and filters. Darcy was just Darcy, and there was an unapologetic kind of charm to that.
“You didn’t enter the code,” I said.
“Oh, there’s no code. Just swipe on the screen somewhere.”
I lifted my eyes. “Aren’t you worried the wrong person will get their hands on your phone?”
“Why? Do you think I have nudes on there or something?”
My throat went suddenly dry at the thought of nude images of Darcy just a few taps away. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing, because her eyes flitted to my fingertip and then to my face. She bit her lip, eyebrows wiggling. “Feel free to check, boss.”
I summoned all the willpower I had and tapped my way to her contacts list. I added myself as “Mr. Lockwood” and handed the phone back to her.
“You know, I really thought you were going to look at my photos.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I am,” she said. “There’s nothing inappropriate in there except the first image. It’s me giving the middle finger to the camera. I was going to say you can’t discipline me for giving you the finger since you shouldn’t have been snooping in the first place. But you kinda ruined that.”
“Are you done?” I asked.
She sighed. “Yeah. I still have work to do if I’m going to finish this piece by Friday. So you’ll be ready for me by seven, right?” She paused just long enough to look me over. “Are you wearing that?”
I looked down. “Is there something wrong with what I have on?”
“Oh, no, it’s great. I just wanted to make sure you keep it on. Love the vest.”
And with that, she left my office.
I looked down at my vest and frowned. Was she fucking with me?
Yes, I thought. Darcy McClain was absolutely fucking with me on more levels than I comprehended yet.
18
DARCY
This was easily my favorite time of year. The trees around Manhattan were beginning to shift from green to oranges and reds and yellows. The warm, muggy evenings were being replaced by chilly breezes that meant I could bust out my favorite coats and scarves. The coming of cold weather felt like the official transition from the monotony of summer into the magic of the holidays, and let me tell you, I didn’t mess around when it came to holidays.
For me, the best holidays came when the cold weather did. I loved the lights, the corny movie marathons, the cozy clothes, and the seasonal treats. The family part? Yeah, I guess that was all fine, too, but I looked most forward to that smell in the air. Everything seemed crisp and clean–like a fresh start every holiday season, and God, I could use a fresh start.
I checked the time and decided I had time to meet up with one of my best friends, Charleston. As kids, we’d been inseparable, but our paths diverged a little after college. I was grinding away at The Squawker and he was becoming Mr. Entrepreneur. It meant we didn’t get to see each other nearly as much anymore, and I had a boatload of drama to unload on him since we’d had our last real conversation.
He’d texted yesterday and let me know he was grabbing an early dinner at a place near my work. I was invited, but there was no pressure if I couldn’t make it.
So I rushed out of the office around three without even glancing in Dominic’s direction. I knew we had a “date” at seven, so I’d be seeing more than enough of him later tonight.
I had to fast-walk a little to the subway to make it on time, but I wound up making my way inside Bistro 101 just a little after four. A blonde, tall hostess greeted me.