Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“So . . .” He picks right up, then finishes with, “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Seven forty-five.” I slow my breathing, hoping to tame my thumping heart. The lobby is so quiet he might hear otherwise.
“I had—” we both say in unison, stop, then start laughing.
“I don’t know why this is weird.”
“Awkward.”
“It’s not like it was a date?” I look up as if he’ll save me from embarrassing myself. He doesn’t. He just watches me shovel myself deeper. “Thanks for the pity party. I needed it.”
Nodding slowly, he studies me before saying, “Have a good night, Tuesday.”
“Good night.”
He covers about five feet, but then stops and turns back. With his thumb rubbing over his lower lip, he eyes me like I’m the dessert he’s having tonight. “I didn’t take pity on you. I invited you because I wanted your company. You didn’t disappoint.” A smirk lifts the left side of his face, and I think I even catch a waggle of his eyebrows before he turns away. “See you tomorrow.”
Damn, that man knows how to make a woman swoon. I steady myself on these heels and try to drag myself upstairs. If I’ve learned one thing about him, it’s that the devil has another name.
Loch Westcott.
9
Loch
You didn’t disappoint?
I drop my head in my hands, embarrassed for me. What the fuck am I doing?
I was right to leave, though. If I hadn’t, I would have kissed her right there in the hotel lobby. Who does that to someone in her situation?
She has a fucking concussion. And amnesia. Apparently, I think that’s a great time to hit on her. Fucking hell . . . I’m such an asshole.
Such a mind fuck.
Yesterday, she showed me a glimpse of her old self. She was difficult and didn’t take any shit. She dished it out in droves. Today, she’s pleasant to be around—sweet, almost naive—but it feels genuine. How do I know which version of Tuesday is real? Is it the woman I met in the coffee shop or the woman now?
If I give it time, I’m sure things will resolve naturally. Although selfishly, I’d rather keep the version of her that I’m getting to know. That’s not fair. She deserves her life back, even at the expense of our newfound relationship.
Relationship? No, I don’t do relationships. I need to get that out of my fucking head. It’s a friendship.
“You okay there, boss?”
“Just great, Brady,” I lie between my teeth, slumping back in the seat. Today will be hard to beat—good and bad. I stare out the window, wondering how badly I’ll fuck things up tomorrow.
I fill Brady in on the plan for the morning, then get out, dragging myself through the lobby of my building and into a waiting elevator.
Once I’m home, I toss my keys in the small bowl on the console just inside the front door, feeling victorious when they don’t slide over the edge like they do most days.
The solitary sound from the hard soles of my shoes fills the short entry feeding into the living room. I don’t expect to hear anything when I come home at night, but the barren echoing still bothers me two years after moving in.
It’s early, just past eleven.
I’m finally home. I don’t think I’ve been home at this hour in some time. This is where I should feel most relaxed, easing under the covers and getting some rest. Instead, I’m changing into workout clothes and then heading upstairs to the building’s gym to burn through another hour or two, and hopefully some of this stress.
But running can’t stop my thoughts from spinning faster than the treadmill. Weights can’t exhaust my muscles enough to dull my mind. Focus. Stay in the moment.
I give it a solid twelve reps before I sit down on a bench and drop the dumbbells on the mat beside me. Is it normal to be this stressed, to work so hard that you not only miss sunrises but also sunsets? That I account for every daylight hour in billing minutes to clients, including not being able to enjoy my personal life even when it’s dark?
Every other attorney at Westcott Law was already married when they joined the firm. Two had kids, and one is seven years older, while the others are decades ahead of me. I don’t have time to see my friends or family enough. I can’t imagine having enough time for a wife, much less a family right now.
Setting the weight bar on the rack, I droop forward on the bench and let my head hang down. Sweat drips from my forehead, hitting my leg, and I take it as a sign. I could stay longer but decide to push up and grab my towel. Dragging it over my face and down my neck before wrapping it over my shoulders, I clean the equipment, grab my water, and head to the elevators.