Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
He seems to consider that for a beat, before adding, “But we’re already over budget for plumbing. This would take us another ten-thousand into the red.”
“What if I can find a workaround?” I ask. “Would you consider it then?”
Dave expresses he’s agreeable to that and I huddle up with Mitch to find a solution, deciding to go with a slightly cheaper vinyl flooring in the dorms to stretch the budget.
When we’re done, Mitch beams at me. “Thanks for advocating for the change, Syd. I think it’ll be great for the shelter. Help give people comfort in a hard time. I know I wouldn’t even think about leaving home without Wendy. That dog is like my third daughter.”
“My pleasure,” I say with a smile. “That’s what we’re here for, right? To think outside the box and try to make this the best place possible for the people who need it.”
“That’s what we’re here for, anyway,” he says, casting a pointed look at Dave, who is currently interfering with the HVAC installer for some unknown reason. He shifts his focus back to me, smiling as he adds, “Glad to see you living the dream, though. Your dad has been looking forward to this for years. He couldn’t wait to have you home and working for the family business.”
“Happy to be here,” I say. And…I am. Mostly.
But as I catch a cab back to the office with Dave an hour later, Mitch’s words continue to haunt me. I’m “living the dream,” all right.
But is it my dream? Or my father’s?
Suddenly, that distinction feels very important.
I suspect it has something to do with the man waiting for me at the speakeasy on Tenth Avenue after work on Wednesday, the one who makes it clear every time he touches me that what I want matters to him.
That I matter…
On impulse, I hurry across the bar, into the shadows in the back of the dimly lit space, and right into Gideon’s arms.
twenty-eight
GIDEON
Her lips press against mine and the stress of the day vanishes in a rush of gratitude.
I’ve never felt this lucky, not in my entire life.
I’m a billionaire with a thriving business, in excellent health, and even on my darkest days, I’ve been able to count on a natural emotional and mental resilience I know isn’t the norm for a lot of people. I have a gorgeous home in Vermont, a stunning apartment in the city, and the option of retiring by forty if I want to.
But it’s this woman who makes me feel like I won the life lottery.
I can’t believe I almost let her slip away.
The thought makes my arms tighten around her, holding her close as the kiss ends. “I guess you missed me, too?”
She nods. “So much. Tuesday night was lame without you.”
“So lame,” I agree, wishing it wasn’t too soon to ask her to move in with me. But it is. But in a month or two, things will be different. In a month or two, it won’t be untoward to suggest cohabitation or to ask her if she might consider Christmas in Vermont…or to tell her that I’m in love with her. Because I am, and I don’t give a shit if that seems crazy to anyone else. I’ve been looking for a love like this long enough to know when I’ve found it. “You should definitely sleep over tonight.”
Her lips turn down. “Sadly, I can’t. Noelle needs help boxing hamster fashion. She had a ton of orders come in last week and is so busy sewing she hasn’t had time to get things ready to ship. I told her I’d come home early tonight and help her knock it all out before the panic attacks get any worse.”
“You’re a good friend,” I say, squashing the disappointment rising in my chest. At least I get to see her and touch her, even if it’s just for a little while. I nod toward the bar. “Should we go somewhere else, then? Will an old-fashioned interfere with your ability to ship hamster fashion?”
“Hell, no,” she scoffs. “I need that old-fashioned. I spent the afternoon playing ‘Please Stop Being a Jerk and Let me Make This Project Awesome’ with Dave again. I thought Mitch was going to have a heart attack at one point, when Dave suggested the homeless children didn’t need a playground in the courtyard.”
I scowl, shaking my head as we make our way to the front. “What’s wrong with that man? The project is coming in right on budget.”
“He wants it under budget, I guess,” she says, leaning against the gleaming mahogany bar beside me. “He thinks that’s what wins brownie points with my father. And I guess it is. I mean, Dave’s been with the company for seven years. Dad clearly knows how he operates and still selected him to take the lead on this project, so…”