Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
I won’t need to work again or chase side jobs just to survive.
Gramps did that for me. He did it knowing how much I’ve always wanted to be an artist and how I wouldn’t make Dad’s mistakes.
I bury my head in a throw pillow, realizing too late that it’s the same one Holden held against him. It still smells like him.
Shamelessly, I inhale it.
What the ever-loving hell is happening?
I rip the pillow away from my face and frown.
I do not have a thing for him. Not like an actual thing.
A crush is one thing.
I’ve crushed on guys like Henry Cavill and Jon Hamm. Older men with muscles and attitudes on screens. How shocking.
But abstract crushes aren’t the same as feelings for a man who’s up close and personal.
I’m getting emotional over the man who used to enforce my curfews and who’d watch my doors and windows.
He hid my car keys.
He made boundaries feel like a curse.
He saved me from myself.
We’re not supposed to be invested. We’re just working together because we have to.
I should be overjoyed. So pumped about any future I can imagine that I can’t think about anything else. All my wildest dreams are just one little big sale and some publicity away.
So, why does it feel like I’m losing?
Why does it feel like there’s a missing piece just drifting away?
The ride to the airport is predictably awkward.
At the penthouse, I just about managed to avoid him, but it’s harder when we’re fighting through the evening traffic in a silent car.
It’s bonkers how much the whole world can tilt on its axis in just a few days.
When we arrived in New York, I never dreamed I’d kiss him.
Never imagined we’d look at each other as more than control freak cavebear and spoiled art brat.
His gaze slides over, then away again.
I hate that I wonder what he sees now. Screw art brat, I must look like an overly emotional little tease who couldn’t keep her hands and lips to herself.
This would be a great time to talk about it, I guess. But God, where do I begin without dying?
Hey, yeah, sorry for kissing you, Holden Hardass. I didn’t mean it.
Okay, Nile. I forgive you for falling onto my tongue. Let’s never talk about it again.
See? Awful.
I dig my fingers into my temples.
“Headache?” Holden inhales like it takes all his concentration to remain calm.
“Just a little,” I say. “Nothing too major.”
We lapse back into silence.
Part of me wants to scream at him, to tell him it’s not all my fault. He certainly didn’t feel tortured when we crashed together.
Deep down, he wanted it as bad as I did, so why should I take a hundred percent of the blame?
Only, it won’t do any good pointing fingers.
It won’t erase what happened.
Plus, it’s clear as day he doesn’t want to dwell on it. I don’t even know if I want to mention it again.
A girl’s ego can only take so much before she has to shut up and live it down.
The only thing that could possibly make this more embarrassing would be if he hadn’t kissed me back. If he’d pushed me away with pure disgust for daring to touch him.
But he didn’t.
Holden kissed me back like he meant to.
Like he wanted me.
Like he’s been craving me for years and all I had to do was open the gate and unleash a charging bull.
And I did unleash him, no lie.
Who knows if the kiss was the real mistake. Maybe we shouldn’t have gone to The Met.
If we hadn’t, that adorably awkward pseudo-date stuck in my head wouldn’t have happened. I wouldn’t have gone to sleep curled up in his arms.
I wouldn’t have let myself fly too close to the sun.
“You need aspirin?” he asks, his voice like gravel.
“I’m fine.”
“If you’re not feeling good, tell me.”
Yes, Holden. I’m feeling something because I accidentally kissed you and now you barely look at me. Is there a pill for that?
I stare at him until I can’t.
He nods stiffly and lets it go.
Small relief, I lie.
But when we get to the airport and head into the lounge, waiting for our jet, he scares up a bottle of water and a little travel aspirin pack.
“Here,” he growls. “If this won’t cut it, I’ll find something that will. No good reason you need to fly sick.”
My heart skips.
I shouldn’t be feeling anything at the thought that Holden Verity might care. What does it matter anyway?
Except, obviously it does. It matters because—
Shit.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I do my best to smile, but the skin of my face feels too tight.
He grunts and walks away, the suitcase holding the egg still swinging from his hand like it’s chained to him.
I stare at him for a beat too long before finally picking up my own bag and following him to the plane.