Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 208(@200wpm)___ 167(@250wpm)___ 139(@300wpm)
“Come on. Don’t be a spoilsport. It’ll be fun. There will be loads of people there who’d like to see you. Kit and his flavor of the month will be there, I’m sure. Say you’ll come.”
I kept my eyes trained on Kit’s face as my dad spoke. He clearly wasn’t happy with Dad’s flippant reference to Mandi Hohn, who happened to be a highly respected plastic surgeon. I shoved down thoughts of Kit’s beautiful girlfriend and focused on myself. “I heard Darcy Latham’s a player.”
Kit’s eyes did a slow blink of confirmation, but my dad disagreed. “He just hasn’t found the right man. He could use a calming influence like you. He needs someone to take care of him, and you like taking care of people. It’s why you’re a teacher, although god knows I begged you not to go into that field.”
I gritted my teeth and sat up, pulling away from Kit’s comforting heat. “I became a teacher because I believe education is a powerful tool to revolutionize humanity,” I snapped, angry for the sheer number of times I’d tried to talk to my father about this. “It’s not about taking care of kids, Dad. It’s about teaching them to be curious about the world around them so they’ll grow up to be good stewards of the land, of kindness and peace, of intellectual progression. I want to live in a world where people are well-informed and know enough about history to use it for good instead of evil. I…” I stopped and sighed. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll come to your charity dinner. Not because I want to be set up with anyone but because I’d like to see you. I haven’t seen you since Christmas.”
I saw Kit’s eyes widen in surprise. It was October now. The accidental reveal of just how little my father cared for me made me want to hide under Kit’s giant overcoat and never come out.
“Tell Kit I’m looking forward to seeing him,” my dad said. “I haven’t seen him since the Weavers’ dinner party. Do you know if he and Stella Jennings are still seeing each other? I saw her ex-husband the other night, and he’s still angry about it.”
I handed Kit the phone and turned toward the opposite window, pulling the coat over me as much as possible to hide my misery.
The sound of Kit greeting my father and murmuring an explanation of what happened tonight washed over me the way his voice always did, no matter who he was talking to or what he was saying. Kittredge Evers had many moods, but they almost always stayed hidden behind a tightly controlled calm.
I must have dozed off because when I awoke, we were in front of the elaborate glass doors of his apartment building instead of the small, shadowed door of mine.
“Why are we here?”
“Don’t argue. Let’s go.”
I was too tired to argue anyway, and my head was pounding from stress, dehydration, and hunger. I followed Kit up to his penthouse and let him feed me.
“I could kill that man for doing this to you.” He continued grumbling as he made me a sandwich. If I’d been in a better mood, I might have teased him about making his own food instead of relying on his housekeeper to make something for him. As it was, I didn’t even ask where she was or how he knew his way around his kitchen so well.
I simply sat and ate what he put in front of me.
“You mean my father?”
“Well, him too,” he said. “But I was referring to the felon. Rajiv texted me that Hawthorne has a prior conviction, although why that wasn’t apparent earlier is unclear.”
“I don’t care about Hawthorne,” I said miserably. “He’s just the latest in a string. It’s a sign. One I needed, apparently.”
“Nonsense. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. That idiot’s actions are not a string or a sign or a statement about you of any kind. Don’t give him another moment’s consideration. Here, carrot sticks.”
I snapped into one of the carrot sticks he dropped onto the plate next to my half-eaten sandwich before I pointed the rest of it at him. “I’ve been thinking about taking some classes on social-emotional learning. That would be a way better use of my free time.”
“Tell me about it,” Kit said. He opened some kind of seltzer and set the bottle and cap in front of me.
It felt like he added more food to my plate with every bite I took. I talked, drank, and ate until I was half-comatose, and when he said I needed sleep, I didn’t argue. Simply followed him down the hall, changed into the sleep clothes he gave me, and let him put me to bed.
It wasn’t until hours later, when I woke up with a full bladder, that I realized I was in his bed. And Kit was sitting on top of the covers next to me, typing softly on his laptop.