Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
He turned back to me like an idea had come to mind. “Alright. You put me at the top of your waitlist—and I’ll do my best.”
It wasn’t that simple, since the owner of the building was in charge of that. But with a bit of pleading, I could probably make that happen. “Alright.”
“Then you have yourself a deal. When do I meet him?”
“Well…I still have to talk him into it.”
He shook his head again.
“He wants to be diplomatic first…”
“In my experience, people don’t respond to diplomacy. They respond to war. If he wants to get his kid back, he better make her life miserable—until she caves.”
This was totally unethical.
A huge breach of privacy.
But when I took Deacon’s phone and replaced it, I took Valerie’s contact from his phonebook.
Don’t judge me.
I had good intentions.
When I got to my desk and sat down, Anna was in the other chair.
“You look tired,” she said.
“Because there are no clients around. I finally get to be tired.”
She chuckled. “How’s that asshole with the nice ass?”
I glared at her. “Come on, we can’t give our clients nicknames like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Hot asshole?”
“Anna.”
“Fine.” She made a snooty voice. “How’s Mr. Hamilton?”
“Better. He’s definitely improved.”
“You finally wore him down?”
“No…I just understand him better.” It was the end of the day, so I finished up the last few things that couldn’t wait until tomorrow, made sure we’d delivered everyone’s dry cleaning, mail, and the other packages that piled up at our desk when they wouldn’t fit inside their mailbox.
Then I went home to my messy apartment. The longer I returned to this pigsty, the more I considered forking over the cash for my own housekeeper. It was a lot of money for me, but clearly, I was never going to fix this place up. I needed someone to clean, do my dishes, even do my laundry.
Sometimes I wished I were rich.
People like Deacon could spend all their time focusing on their careers because they had someone like me do all the mediocre, mundane stuff no one wanted to do. It was the reason he was fit like a horse. Whenever his shirt was off, his body was in such impeccable shape that he had to work out at least two hours every day. And eating nothing but salmon and greens really fueled that body.
With an attitude, I opened a frozen burrito, threw it in the microwave, and ate that shit on the couch, still in the clothes I wore to the office, my pencil skirt and blouse wrinkled now that I slouched on the sofa. I spent my extra cash on designer clothing, because I couldn’t present myself to these people wearing five-dollar t-shirts. I had to be at their level and below them at the exact same time.
When I was finished, I wiped the beans off my face then pulled up the number I was about to call. It was six in the evening in California, so not too late for an interruption. After hearing the way Deacon spoke to her, I was a little intimidated to talk to her, a little scared she would tell Deacon what I did and then he would reprimand me.
But maybe I could make some progress with her.
I put my earbuds in and made the call, still on the clock even when I was at home.
It rang a few times.
Then his ex-wife answered, in a young and feminine voice. “Hello?” Just her voice made her sound like she was pretty, one of those trophy wives who went to yoga every day and left the kid with the nanny.
“Hello, Valerie. My name is Cleo. Is this a bad time? I don’t want to interrupt you during dinner or anything.”
“Uh, what’s this about? Who are you?” She wasn’t exactly combative, but she wasn’t the friendly type either.
“I work at the building in Tribeca where Deacon now lives, and I’ve become his personal assistant and concierge.”
“Oh.” That was all she said, but her anger was potent in the single word. “Well, I really don’t want to spend my evening talking about my ex-husband, and if he has to send a woman to fight his battles—”
“He doesn’t know that I’m calling.” And what the fuck did she just say to me? This woman could fight better than any man.
She turned quiet.
“And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him because he might fire me.” I doubted Deacon would do such a thing. He’d probably get angry with me, but the worst he would do was leave the room, taking his brooding attitude with him. But making her pity me was a good start. “I just thought we could talk, you know, woman-to-woman. I was in his residence when I wasn’t supposed to be, and I overheard your conversation…so he talked to me about the situation.”