Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
“Just a little in the back. But it’s more for me than for Harper.”
Some actual customers started to come into the bar—ones Quinn couldn’t offer self-service to. So I was left to ponder and drown my sorrows in alcohol alone for a while. And ponder I did.
What would I do if that little girl was Gray’s daughter?
I’d dated a guy who was divorced once. He had a four-year-old. I hadn’t ruled him out because he had a child, so why would Gray be any different?
Because the guy I dated was just that—some guy I dated.
Not the man I’m in love with.
The man
I’m
In love
With.
That bore repeating in my head.
Slowly.
I guess it didn’t really come as a shock. I’d fallen in love with Gray two-and-a-half years ago. It was just the first time I’d actually admitted it to myself. Which meant…I guzzled the rest of my drink.
After five hours of sitting at the bar and wallowing in self-pity, I finally headed home. Quinn made sure I made it safely into the back of the cab and took down the driver’s ID number—letting him know she had it—to ensure he took me straight home.
Once there, I went directly to my bed, without even taking my shoes off, and plopped down face first. I’d just started to doze off when my phone chimed, indicating a new message.
I felt around for the end table without lifting my head and had to squint to make out the words. It was a text from Gray.
Gray: I came by your place a little while ago but managed to talk myself out of ringing the buzzer. I don’t even know if you were home, but it felt good to be in the same place you might be. I’m giving you the space you want, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you. Please know that, Freckles.
I loved him even more after reading that text. Yet I couldn’t let him push. We’d only just worked things out, and I didn’t think our relationship was ready to add a child. Ignoring his words, I texted back.
Layla: Did you talk to Max?
Gray: Her office called me back and told me to meet her there tomorrow at 9AM.
Jealousy shot an arrow through my heart at the thought of them together in one room. It was ridiculous. I knew that. The man loathed her. But I felt what I felt. Love was possessive. It didn’t matter who the intruder was; it only mattered that someone was circling what I considered mine.
I swallowed the lump of wariness in my throat and responded with all the enthusiasm I could muster.
Layla: Good luck tomorrow.
Chapter 25
* * *
Gray
I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair, growing more restless by the minute.
Max’s secretary had showed me into a conference room—one with a long table and more than a dozen chairs. But more importantly, one that had glass panels, which allowed everyone who walked down the hall to see in. At first I thought perhaps it was standard operating procedure—the secretary didn’t know who I was or have any reason to think my business with Max today required any sort of privacy. But as the minutes ticked by, I realized Max left nothing to chance. She’d have instructed her staff to put me exactly where she wanted me, so the fact that I was sitting in a fishbowl was definitely not an accident.
Max was nervous about my reaction. Considering I felt like a ticking time bomb, her assessment was probably on point. Any minute I thought I might explode. And whoever was in my way? God help us both.
At ten after nine, the door to the conference room opened and Max walked in. If she was nervous, it didn’t immediately show. She marched to the opposite side of the table, set down a large file wrapped with a rubber band and her cell phone, and took a seat across from me. She folded her hands on top of the folder and looked at me without a word.
It had been more than a year since I’d laid eyes on her, and that time had not been kind. Max was always tall and thin. In the mornings, she went for long runs—sometimes the distance of a marathon runner prepping for a race—when she was stressed. During the time we were being investigated, she lost a lot of weight, running two and three hours a day, but she’d still looked healthy, even if on the thin side.
But the woman sitting across from me looked like she’d been stressing a fuck of a lot. Her cheeks were hollowed, her shoulders seemed half the size they used to be, and the V-neck of her shirt displayed collarbones that jutted out in a way that was more skeletal than sexy. If I wasn’t so fucking furious, the way she looked might’ve been alarming.