Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
“Are you?” he murmurs.
“Am I what?
“Crazy.”
“No.” Then, half a second later, “Maybe.”
He hums before jerking his chin at me. “What’s your second strike?”
I swallow, fidgeting on my feet. “Saying no.”
That gives him pause. As in, he was in the process of thrusting his hands down into his pockets and shifting on his feet, as if settling in for a long conversation. But my reply made him freeze. It also made him narrow his eyes. Only fractionally, but I catch it. Of course I do. I’ve had years of practice in catching small, hidden things about him. Like the real color of his dark eyes and how his dark hair, which also appears pitch black, has hidden strands of brown in it.
“What?” he asks softly then.
“It’s not important,” I tell him, tucking my curls behind my ear.
He watches me for a beat. Then he finishes what he was about to do: slides his hands into his pockets and widens his stance. “You said no to him.”
“No.”
“For what, a date?”
“No.” I repeat, shaking my head again. But his eyes are still narrowed and strangely, the truth slips out of me a moment later. “Yes. He said even though he had a bad experience with a redhead, he was willing to make an exception for me. But it… it doesn’t matter.”
I mean, it clearly does because I’m already picturing his beady eyes moving over my body in a disgusting way as he asks me out on a date again. This time I may have to say yes so he doesn’t fire me because I need this job. I need all my jobs.
“What’s his name?” he asks.
My heart skips a beat. “What?”
“His name,” he repeats, his tone just as soft but now there’s a muscle beating on his cheek. “What is it?”
It’s hard to say anything over the loud pounding of my heart but I still try. “I… Why?”
Keeping his gaze steady, he slowly shakes his head. “No reason.”
“Are you… You’re not going to do something”—I swallow again—“to him, are you?”
“What do you think I’ll do?” he asks instead of answering my question.
“I don’t… I don’t know. It’s…” I shake my head, trying to put my thoughts together. “This is crazy.”
“What’s crazy?”
This. This whole situation. This whole surreal situation. What is he doing out here? How is it that he’s standing in front of me and we’re having a conversation? And the most insane conversation at that. Why isn’t he inside, celebrating his engagement?
Fuck, he’s engaged, isn’t he? Engaged to be married to someone else.
I stand up straight then, even though the reminder of his engagement has made my knees weak. “Did you need something? Can I, uh, help you find anything?”
Good, this is good. I’m working. I should try to be professional. Not to mention, maybe that’s why he’s talking to me in the first place. Maybe he wants me to get him a drink. Or point him in the direction of a restroom. Only why would he seek me out instead of getting any number of servers to help? It’s not as if I’m particularly visible out here. I’m standing stuck to a tree, away from the main path.
“Right. Because tonight, you’re the help,” he says before moving his eyes up and down my body, taking in my uniform.
I don’t know how it happened but somehow, I’ve pointed to one of my other dreaded features yet again. Well, a uniform isn’t a feature, but still. I have a black pencil skirt on with a slit up the back and a white blouse with full sleeves and a black waistcoat over it. Oh, and let’s not forget the black tie and black Mary Janes. Classic waitress outfit. A far cry from all the elegant and sexy ballgowns everyone is wearing in there, like his girlfriend—his fiancée now—is wearing.
I rub my hands on my skirt and wish he’d look away soon. But instead, he takes his time. He runs his eyes over my waistcoat, down to my skirt. He takes in my bare knees and calves, before eyeing my shoes. It doesn’t matter that what I’m wearing is hideous and that he probably thinks the same thing, I still feel heated. I feel warm everywhere he touches me with his gaze. Probably because this is the first time he’s actually looking at me with such focus. He’s looking at me like I’m his entire focus. And I don’t know how to react to it other than going utterly breathless.
Also, dizzy.
God, I’m feeling dizzy. Even when he’s done and he comes back to my face, I feel like the world is still spinning. Especially when he drawls, “Nice uniform.”
“It’s—”
“I almost didn’t recognize you.”
My heart thuds. “You recognize me?”
Shit. That didn’t sound so good. My voice was way too high pitched and suspicious. But I couldn’t help it. Like I can’t help it now, running through years and years of places I followed him to where he may have seen me.