Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115308 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
I wondered if Baird was being treated to the same.
“I do know people like to tear others down. I do indeed know that,” I said a little too pointedly.
Becky’s eyes narrowed and she pushed off my desk. “Well, even if you and Baird don’t last, at least your wedding is free.”
I hated how much she was going to gloat when Baird and I got divorced. But I refused to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d annoyed me.
“Silver linings.” I gave her a fake-ass smile back and turned to my computer. I stared at it intently until her heels finally clacked out of my office.
Ten minutes later, I finished up and hurried toward the lift to get away before Becky accosted me again. I’d just stepped out of Pennington’s when my phone rang. It was Baird.
The relief that washed over me should have been worrying. I’d kind of expected him to text once the video went live, and when he didn’t, I’d secretly panicked he was in regret mode about the campaign. Then I wondered if that was being self-involved, considering he was showing John around Blantyre Castle today.
After our shoot on Monday, we convinced John to join us for dinner. Callan met us at the restaurant, and I think my presence helped take their minds off everything. Until Baird gathered the courage to press John a wee bit more about joining the business. He explained it was a way to keep him here until he figured out what he wanted to do. They’d gone back and forth and didn’t really come to a decision. I felt terrible for John because what he wanted to do was play football, but his agent couldn’t drum up any interest from UK teams or anywhere in the world and had suggested they part ways. John was teamless and now agentless.
Yesterday, Baird texted and told me John had agreed to try working for them and was shadowing Baird at Blantyre today.
I answered the phone, eager to hear Baird’s voice. “How did it go?” I asked, trying to be supportive and not self-involved.
“I’ll tell you about that later.” His deep voice in my ear was an honest-to-goodness balm to my soul. “How are you doing with the video going viral so quickly?”
“We knew there was a possibility that could happen.”
“Well, this is it. We’re in it now.” His tone was teasing, and I took that to mean there was no regret.
I bit my lip. “Did you read the comments?”
“I never read the comments. Did you read the comments?”
“Maybe.”
“Trolls?”
“Maybe.”
“They’re just angry, jealous morons hiding behind their phones.”
“I know that.”
“Aye?”
“Becky was salivating, though.”
“Becky needs someone to remove that Barbie doll from her arse,” he muttered.
That stopped me in the street as I threw my head back on a dirty cackle of laughter.
Baird’s voice was warm with amusement. “Or maybe it’s a GI Joe.”
I snorted. “Oh, you have no idea how much I needed that.”
“I’m glad.”
“Do you want to come over? We’ll order takeout?” I blurted. I hadn’t seen him all week because he had to miss our last swimming session for a work thing.
And I missed him.
“I’ll be there in ten.” He hung up without another word.
I burst out laughing again, anticipation thrumming through me as I hurried through New Town to my place.
Not wanting to analyze why, I was already mentally searching my closet for something cute but casual to change into and cursing myself for being behind on my laundry because I had this slouchy cropped tee that fell off one shoulder that would’ve been perfect. But it was in the wash.
Considering alternatives, it took me a second to process the visual at the top of my stairs.
Standing outside my flat was Will.
A very, very angry-looking Will.
The sight of him brought back a flood of conflicting emotions. Mostly hurt. And resentment.
Cautiously, I approached, pulling my keys from my purse. “What are you doing here?” I asked once I reached the landing.
He huffed, “What am I doing here? I’ve had to resort to hunting you down because you blocked me everywhere else.”
Stay calm. Do not give him the satisfaction of seeing emotion from you.
“When someone blocks you, it means they don’t want to speak to or see you, Will. It means you should probably not hunt them down.” I jammed my key into the lock. “Go away.”
“Not until we talk. Please. I’ll just come back tomorrow. Or I’ll camp out here.”
I frowned, letting out a huff of heartfelt annoyance. “Fine. Come in. But you get five minutes. That’s it.”
As soon as I entered my living room, I dropped my purse on my coffee table and whirled around.
Will was not at my back.
“Will?”
He appeared in the doorway, his expression pinched. “You … you took down the photos of us. From your wall.”
Oh.
Guilt pricked me. Followed by irritation that I’d feel guilty for something I totally had the right to do!