Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Her chest heaves.
My hands are up in a surrender pose. “My agent is Eli Cohen. He rented the room for me.” Relax, lady. Chill.
The clock ticks as the pieces of the puzzle click together in her brain, thank God.
“My friend’s name is Molly, not what’s her face.” She sets the letter opener down on the desk and plops back into her desk chair, body visibly sagging with relief. “You don’t just barge into someone's home and scare the shit out of them. How did you get in?”
Well, no shit, you don’t barge into someone’s home. That’s not what I did, jeez. I’m staying here. I had to get inside somehow—what difference does it make how I got in?
“I didn’t realize anyone was here. If I had, I’d have banged on the door harder.”
“Yes, you should have banged on the door harder.” She’s fuming, steam practically coming out of both ears.
“Ma’am, in my defense, the door was locked.” I sound reasonable enough, hands gesturing in front of me. Inwardly, I chuckle at my own use of the word ma’am, knowing it makes me sound like the gentleman my mama raised me to be, though I know I’m not.
“You broke down the door?” Her eyes are wide, and she’s yelling again.
I snort. “No, I came in through the window, and it was being a little bitch.”
“Why would you do that?” she screeches. “On what planet is it ever okay to climb through someone’s window? Did you not think to ring the doorbell?”
She keeps stressing parts of her sentences in the most peculiar way.
“There is no doorbell.”
“Yes, there is! There is a doorbell—what house doesn’t have a doorbell?” she yells, furious. “Did you not look? Oh my God, and then you barge in here snooping around like you’re trying to give me a heart attack?” She leans back, catching her breath, checking the watch on her wrist. “I wasn’t ready for you yet.”
I shrug. “Caught an earlier flight.”
“And didn’t bother to let anyone know?”
I yawn. “Didn’t think it would be a problem.”
And I’m not sure what her problem is now. It’s not like I’m a killer or a robber or a shady mother-effer.
She needs to calm her tits.
She’s staring at me as if I were some kind of lunatic, half-crazed whack job who’s totally invaded her space. Which isn’t the case because I am renting the room where I dropped my bag. If anything, shouldn’t she be grateful for the extra cash?
It’ll help take some of the burden off her plate—and I’m not just giving her rent money. I’m giving her a small payout, so if she could quit looking at me as if I were the devil incarnate, that would be fantastic.
She’s still heaving and sighing like she’s just completed a training workout with one of my defensive coordinators when all she’s actually doing is sitting in a chair staring daggers at me.
My therapist, Dr. Nancy, has been teaching me how to redirect and reframe—turn a negative into a positive— to be more constructive and less hostile when I’m talking to someone, and I attempt to do that now with my new roomie.
“Thanks for welcoming me into your home,” I tell her pleasantly, ignoring her stiff posture and unsmiling mouth.
“Are you being serious right now?” she deadpans. “You broke in.”
I’m confused. Does she not think I appreciate the bed to crash in? And the use of her Wi-Fi? What in tarnation?
“I didn’t break in.”
“But the house is locked,” she points out again, Master of the Obvious, reiterator of facts.
“But I didn’t come in through the door. I came in through a window.” I point at a chair across from her at the desk. “Mind if I sit?”
“Yes, I mind if you sit.”
I sit anyway, this entire exchange exhausting.
I need food and a shower.
Pulling out my phone, I begin scrolling through messages to see if Eli has finally gotten back to me.
He has not.
2
posey
The nerve of this guy, climbing in through the window and scaring the shit out of me, acting like an intruder I hadn’t known was in the house.
How long was he inside before he entered my office?
What was he up to downstairs before he came upstairs?
The fact that I hadn’t heard him knocking is terrifying. What if he was a murderer whose intention was to tie me up and do horrible things?
I shiver, pushing the thought out of my brain and focusing on the man sitting across from me—uninvited, I might add.
He’s massive.
And yes, I did my research but not a ton, and I had pictured him differently in my head. I wasn’t expecting him to be so massive. How on earth has he shoved his large body through the window without making any sounds?
I stare at him, unable to decide if he’s a creep or just crass. I’m unfamiliar with either personality trait, considering I prefer not to associate with assholes.