Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
This was what she was after?
It had to be.
It was the paper on top.
There were still wet spots from her tears on it.
Why had she been crying?
None of this made any fucking sense.
But one thing was becoming evident. Clearly, I didn’t know this woman I’d invited into my house, my life, my bed, my heart.
Exhaling hard, I threw back the glass of scotch then made my way out of the bedroom and up the stairs, making a beeline for her bedroom.
And, I shit you not, it felt wrong to turn the knob, to go in. Without asking. Without her knowing what I was doing.
Even though she’d been doing her fair share of snooping too.
Swinging the door open, I was met with a hissing noise, clearly having scared one of the kittens out of their nap.
“Shit,” I said, looking down at them, realizing that I didn’t know dick about how to take care of them.
I’d have to call Brio. Have him figure it out, show me what to do. They were my responsibility now.
How the fuck had she just left them?
She’d loved those cats.
Had cried about those cats.
Tended to them day and night.
Then again, she’d left me.
And I’d begun to think that she’d loved me too.
Obviously, I couldn’t trust my judgment on this shit. When it came to this woman.
I moved around her space, trying to ignore the way my body was reacting to the scent of her all around.
She kept a clean house, but her room was evident of her often disheveled self. Shoes here, pile of laundry there, an unmade bed, random trinkets on her nightstands and dresser.
The necklace I bought her was on the bathroom counter.
Nothing felt off to me.
Just her things.
Clothes I’d seen her in already, others that I hadn’t. No hidden weapons. None of my shit mixed in with her stuff.
Seeing the kittens trying to jump out of the pen, I reached for them, pulling them with me onto the bed, finding their presence surprisingly comforting.
“Who the fuck is she, huh?” I asked, feeling their bodies, a lot more heft on them now. Evidence of her love, of her care.
And she’d been wrecked, damnit.
Crying in the office.
Why?
What had brought about this change?
On a sigh, I set the kittens back in the pen and shot off a text to Brio about them.
Then I made my way back downstairs, tucking most of the paperwork away, save for the paper she’d been holding, then made my way out of my place and going four doors down.
“What’s up?” Ant asked, tensing as I approached, seeing on my face that shit was fucked.
“Keep an eye on my door. If Avery shows up, I need to know immediately.”
“Milo…” he said, giving me that concerned look that didn’t belong on a younger brother’s face.
“I need to work some shit out with Lorenzo. Then I’ll tell you,” I said, going inside, slamming the door with more force than was necessary.
“Whoa,” Lorenzo said as I walked into the dining room where he was sitting, looking at some paperwork. “What happened?”
I walked over, slapping the paperwork down in front of him.
“What do you remember about this deal?” I asked as he looked at it.
“Not much. A debt paid, that’s about it. Why is it wet?”
“Because Avery was crying all over it after breaking into a safe and taking it out of all the other paperwork.”
“What?” he hissed, tensing.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding, jaw granite. “I went home early and found her in my office holding that. Crying. Then when I caught her, she ran. Literally fucking ran. Without even putting on shoes.”
“The fuck?”
“Yeah,” I agreed, dissolving into a chair, feeling like my legs were going to give out if I didn’t sit.
Lorenzo looked at my face for a long second before raking his hands down his face. “Fuck,” he hissed to himself. “Let me guess. Things had gotten physical.”
“I fucking fell for her,” I admitted, shaking my head at myself. “Or, I thought I did. I don’t even know who the fuck she is,” I added. “Because the girl I knew, she wouldn’t do this. She was honest to a fault.”
“Let me be the Devil’s Advocate here for a minute?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“Was she honest to a fault, or was she trying to appear honest, so you didn’t look sideways at her?”
That was… a good point.
Suddenly, my mind was racing, rewinding, replaying.
Had it all been a perfectly played part?
Had she stumbled and made a fool of herself so I didn’t take her too seriously, didn’t look too closely? So I constantly underestimated her?
Had she worked so hard to make my house a home to make me associate her with that comfort?
Had she been so fastidious with her receipts, so I never gave her honesty a second thought?
Had she used her body as a distraction?
No, damnit.
Everything in me wanted to say no, wanted to deny it, wanted to refuse the idea that any moment had been fake.