Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
If sweating bullets were a real thing, she’d be a prime example. “Have you started to remember?”
“Yes.” Inserting a pregnant pause gives me time to study her reaction. If I didn’t know she was fucking around with me, I would consider this a major asshole move. She wipes across her forehead with the back of her hand. Fine. I’ll put her out of her misery. “Only flashes here or there. For some reason, your friend popped into my head. The blonde.” Or I’ll drag this out a little longer. “What’s her name again?”
“Juniper?” A gulp practically swallows the end of the name. She tucks her hair behind her ear and glances past me through the window as if tracking her place in the city for her escape.
I have no fucking idea what her friend’s name is, but I snap my fingers. “That’s it.” It’s the look we exchange in the lowlight of the back seat that puts us on a level playing field. This is the first time she’s been backed into a corner. Hope she recognizes the sound of triumph. Because it’s coming. “Anyway, I didn’t get much else.”
“That’s too bad. Oh look,” she says just as the car pulls to the curb, “we’re home.” I glance out the window, giving her the distraction she desperately needs.
“Time flew by.”
“Yep. Here we are.” I pop the door open and step out. She slips her hand in mine when I hold it out for her. The relief on her face has me grinning. I don’t think I’ve smiled this much in a long time. Even if it is with malicious intent, it feels like winning, and that's my favorite thing to do. That and closing deals. When she’s steady on the sidewalk, we’re face to well, my chest, but I tilt my head to the side to get a good look into those pretty eyes of hers.
The building tension inside the taxi has disappeared. “Here we are, home again,” she says with a spark of light shining in her eyes like she got away with something. It’s quite the accomplishment to gain the upper hand after we were tied just minutes before. I’ll take the credit and do a victory lap, mentally patting myself on the back.
A doorman rushes from the other side to open the door for us. “Good evening.”
“Good evening,” I reply. “Was a package delivered for the penthouse? Landers.”
Grinning like he’s happy to have company, he says, “Yes, sir. Not five minutes ago.” He jogs around the counter and sets a small cooler on it.
Delaney shoots me a look, though her widened eyes give away that she might be impressed. “Having a party, Landers?”
“Party for two.” I tap her on the nose, leaving her speechless, and turn back to the doorman. “We haven’t met. I’m Warner Landers.” I hold out my hand, which he shakes with vigor.
Grinning ear to ear, he replies, “Robert, but you can call me Rob.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Angling to my side, I add, “This is my wife, Delaney.” I grin as soon as she starts choking on her saliva. Rubbing her back, I lean in and whisper, “Are you okay, honey?”
Her breathing is as rapid as her blinks. “Fine.” She clears her throat. “All good.” Redirecting her eyes to Robert, she says, “It’s nice to meet you.” She’s not much louder than a mouse, but her smile could knock any man on his ass. Fortunately, she’s not dealing with any guy. She’s dealing with me, and since she came to play, I’ll play.
“You, too.” Rob says, “Let me know if you ever need anything.”
“We will,” I say, taking the cooler by the small handle. It’s disconcerting how easy it is to fall into the pattern of marriage with Delaney. At least to the outside world. Holding out my broken arm, she latches onto it, and we walk onto a waiting elevator.
As soon as the door closes, she flies across the small space, gripping the railing behind her as if she’s holding on for dear life. Releasing one hand, she gestures to my face with two fingers aimed like darting her eyes on the targets of mine. “What are you doing, Warner?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, tossing gullibility into my tone for kicks since that’s what she considers me. I’m surprised the elevator can hold such an epic eye roll. I don’t bother to contain my laughter.
Annoyance narrows her eyes before she glances up at the floor indicator. “This is my wife,” she mocks, her voice transformed into a silly version of her own. “I’m Mr. CEO who can have anything I want at any hour.”
“Not anything,” I correct.
“What can’t you have? Name one thing that you can’t afford to have delivered to your door at any hour.”
“You.” There’s no teasing in my tone and no smugness in my expression. I start to question if I just answered honestly.