Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 191(@200wpm)___ 153(@250wpm)___ 127(@300wpm)
“Sounds like a real gem,” Cameron snarked.
“He was a dick. Everyone knew it, but they were scared shitless of the dude. I was too. I was in my late twenties at the time, and I’d worked my ass off to get a spot at that office. Failure wasn’t an option. But when he pointed at me and asked what the fuck I was doing on his floor, I held my ground. I had a right to be there, and I wasn’t taking the blame for a transaction I had nothing to do with. Yes, I was intimidated and maybe heads were gonna roll, but I wasn’t about to go without a fight.
“Nigel glared at me. The kind of look reserved for finding pubic hair in your soup…you know what I’m saying? Then he called me into his office in front of the whole damn staff. But instead of bawling me out for insubordination or firing me outright, he smiled. Apparently, I’d passed some kind of test. Nothing sexy happened right away. He was married with grown kids, and I was busy living my best life in the city. I had an apartment in Greenwich and a posse of fabulous, high-flying friends. And I was making bank. I sent money home to my mom, but truthfully, I was spending it like it grew on trees too. Michelin-star meals, courtside seats at premiere sporting events and hot-ticket Broadway shows. Life was good. It didn’t seem like it could get better.”
“But it did,” Cameron finished.
I nodded. “Nigel and I had become friendly. I was savvy enough to take note of things he appreciated, like soccer, Cuban cigars, and astronomy so we had things to talk about at company functions. He liked that. A couple of years after the screaming incident, he was going through a divorce and a chance meeting in an elevator turned into a drink that morphed into wild monkey sex. Let me tell you something. It’s a fucking heady thing to be lovers with a powerful man in a high-rolling international financial firm. I moved from my nice apartment into a three-bedroom penthouse with killer views of the Hudson, visited Europe every other month, and ate caviar on the regular.”
Cameron crossed his arms and smiled wryly. “Really?”
“Really. I was probably insufferable. I barely came home in those days. I bought my mom that bougie tree I told you about and gifts that I hoped made everyone in Fallbrook envious. If it didn’t come from Tiffany’s or Bergdorf’s, what was the point? Long story short or I’ll be here all fuckin’ night, I lost myself in a plastic world where money and the affection of one man were the only things that mattered. It wasn’t love, but it felt good…like a drug you know you shouldn’t take. I was addicted to him, and I thought whatever we had was mutual. But when the insider-trading shit came down, he cut ties and pointed fingers.”
“That sucks.”
“Mmhmm. I was innocent. Totally innocent. I think he counted on me being so enamored with him and that crazy lifestyle that I’d forgotten who I was. And where I was from.” I pointed out the window at the darkening sky. “When I came home Christmas Eve five years ago with a decimated bank account, my name dragged through the mud, and my tail between my legs, everyone welcomed me with open arms. No one talks about New York City here. When my friends bring up the past, it’s to talk about the time we got caught smoking in the locker room in high school. I’m not necessarily happy with the way things played out and this isn’t where I wanted to be, but I’ve learned to be grateful. So love…no, I don’t understand love. But sometimes I think I understand hope, and that’s close enough for me.”
Cameron captured my wrist and laced his fingers with mine. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Sharing your story. And before you tell me it’s not for sale…shut up.” He lifted my hand to his lips and pressed kisses, as if to soften his reprimand. “I take it, that’s why you hate the holidays?”
I ignored the question, resting my knee against his. “You’re kissing my knuckles. Should I be alarmed?”
Cameron grinned. “Definitely. Uncharacteristic displays of affection are concerning. But…I can’t help it. I’m a sucker for a tough guy with a gooey center. Something tells me you’re paying penance. Like you took too much at one point and you’ve decided you don’t deserve anything more.”
That was so eerily true that it knocked the wind out of me for a beat. Which of course, made me angry.
“Don’t fucking psychoanalyze me. And don’t think you know me. You don’t know me,” I grumbled.
“Ouch.” He held his hands up in surrender. “Maybe not, but I like what I see. Can I say that, or are you going to bite my head off?”