Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“Mrs. Barnes!” she squeaks, jumping guiltily away from the man.
“Sorry.” I raise my hands as if in self-defense. “I was looking for the powder room and started wandering.”
“Yeah. Of—of course,” she stutters, her eyes zipping from me to the guy. “This is my… cousin Gerald.”
Cousin? What, in the backwoods? With that hand on her ass? I’d hate to see that family reunion. Incest much?
He turns to face me, a phony smile pasted on his face.
“Gerald works in IT,” Amber rushes on. “Right, Gerald?”
Gerald nods. “Right.”
“Oh, that’s great,” I murmur. “Well, it was nice finally meeting you, Amber. Edward says you’re invaluable.”
“Thank you.” Her eyes flick away from me and then back. “He’s a great boss.”
“Well, I’ll let you get back to…” Get back to what? Groping your relative? “I better get back. See you later.”
I think I’m as happy to get away from them as they are for me to leave. I’ve put it off as long as I can. If I don’t get back soon, Edward will come searching for me. Each step down the corridor becomes more agonizing, a sharp pain assaulting my pinkie toe and heel.
“I knew these shoes would be the death of me,” I mutter, reaching down to take off one stiletto and then the other. I hook the heels over my hand, even if for just a few steps before I have to put them back on. “Beauty is not worth this much pain. I’d kill for an orthopedic shoe right about now.”
I’m stepping cautiously with my bare feet on the slick marble floor when a sound from a room up ahead stops me.
Clack clack clack.
I approach, pausing before the ajar door and peeking in to find a library. Books line the shelves, and the smell of expensive cigars mingles with that of the lemon polish that must be making the hardwood gleam beneath a patterned Persian rug.
A boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old, sits in one of two armchairs flanking a table holding a lamp and four Rubik’s Cubes. Wearing headphones, he holds another cube, seemingly oblivious to my presence. I’m about to leave when he glances up, meeting my eyes for the briefest moment before looking away, fingers flying. I freeze, unsure why that stare, as brief as it was, felt familiar. He pauses long enough to slide one of the cubes forward on the table before resuming the swift motions of his hands. I’m not sure, but I believe that was an invitation.
I step farther into the room, crossing over to take the other seat and pick up the cube he offered. Edward’s left me waiting enough lately. He’ll be fine for a few more minutes on his own or with his pretty assistant to keep him company.
“It’s been a long time since I did one of these,” I say, laughing a little as I settle in and tentatively turn the bottom row. “What’s your name?”
It’s silent in the room for a few moments, and I start to think he won’t answer, that he can’t hear me with the headphones on, but then he replies, “Aaron.”
“Hi, Aaron. I’m Soledad.” I cross my bare feet at the ankles and turn the cube a few more times, dismayed when after several minutes I’m nowhere close to getting a side all one color. Meanwhile, Aaron places a finished cube down and picks up another without missing a beat.
“Wow,” I say, thoroughly impressed. “You’re really good at this.”
He doesn’t thank me or acknowledge the compliment, but keeps turning, twisting, lining up blocks into solid walls of color. It might appear odd to someone watching from the outside—me sitting with a young teenage boy I don’t know in silence, the only sounds in the room the clack clack clack of our Rubik’s Cubes. His movements swift and efficient. Mine slower and less sure. He’s finishing another cube when the door opens wider. Judah Cross stands there, leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb. My fingers falter.
“I see he recruited you,” Judah says without preamble, walking forward.
“I don’t know if recruited is the right word.” I turn the bottom row, taking my eyes off my cube long enough to smile at him. “He’s going so fast.”
“You’re supposed to be racing,” Judah says, a bit of humor in his eyes and the slight curve of his full lips.
“Oh.” I stop and laugh, setting the cube down on the table. “Then I give up. I could never beat you, Aaron.”
“He told you his name?” Judah raises his brows.
“Yeah. Was he not supposed to because I’m a stranger or something?”
“Nah.” Judah shakes his head and comes closer, picking up one of the cubes. “He just sometimes doesn’t feel like talking. Isn’t that right, bud?”
Aaron doesn’t answer but flicks his father a cursory glance before refocusing on the cube.
“The only person who comes close to giving him a run for his money,” Judah says, “is my other son, his twin brother, Adam.”