Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
On the plus side, that mild obsession from when I was a kid made it easier for me to immediately sift through all of the wrong features to get as close as possible to the memory I’d been actively trying to reinforce in my mind, so I didn’t forget any feature.
“Does that look right?” the woman asked, pulling up the full image.
Staring at the sketch, my mind flashed back to the split second before I crashed down on my back.
The broken nose, the wide forehead, the dark eyes, the muzzle tip.
My belly flipped.
My pulse skittered.
“Yes,” I said, pressing a hand to my throat that felt like it was starting to close up. “Yeah, that’s him. Wait,” I said, brows pinching.
“Did we miss something?”
“No. Yes. Sort of. Not on his face. But there was something… here,” I said, gesturing toward his neck.
“A tattoo?” she asked, tone hopeful. I imagined because tattoos were such an easy way to identify someone.
“No. No. I’m not sure if it was maybe some sort of birthmark or a scar, but there was a spot right here,” I told her, gesturing toward my own neck. “He was too far away. And I mean, it could even be just, like, a smear of food or something. But I wanted to mention it just in case it was a scar of some kind.”
“I will make a note of it,” she said. “Well, thanks so much for helping us out, Gracie. Let me just see if Detective Vaughn has any more questions for you.”
Luckily for me, he didn’t.
And I finally felt like I could breathe a little as I made my way outside.
It was done.
My part in this whole mess of a situation was over.
I could go back to my normal life.
I had a double baby shower for two pregnant best friends to finish up some details on. And a list to go over for my next event—a fiftieth wedding anniversary.
Thankfully, none of my next six events took place at the Grassi venue. It would hopefully give them a few weeks to, you know, figure this whole situation out and handle it.
I treated myself to a trip to She’s Bean Around, indulging in both an iced and a hot latte to get me through my day.
Then I went ahead and made my way to my office.
It was a tiny little rental unit inside one of those massive brick buildings that held a bunch of medical and professional offices.
Did my budding business really require an office space? Not really. I could do all the planning on a laptop in my own apartment. But having my own space made it not only seem more legit to potential clients, but it also forced me to see it as more than my current side gig.
I had to cancel several of my subscription services and cut back on spending just to afford the rent, but with all the work I was doing, I no longer had time to watch shows and movies or go on shopping sprees.
Besides, the sacrifice was well worth it. I always got this delicious little fluttering feeling in my chest when I made it to my door and saw my business name—Confetti and Co.—stenciled on the frosted glass door.
It was a step in the right direction, I constantly reminded myself when I looked at the bill when it came in. And I was only maybe a year away from being able to make it my full-time job. That was a conservative estimate. I was just a little worried about the winter season and didn’t want to quit my day job until I made it through what was sure to be a leaner season, party-planning-wise.
I pushed open my door, flicked on the light, and nearly let out a shriek at the figure of someone lounging on my cute little blush pink sectional.
“Layna!” I yelped, quickly closing the door behind me. Not only was she spread across my couch, but she was doing so in nothing but a pair of black biker shorts and a sage green leisure bra.
“Hey you,” she greeted, sticking her hand inside a bag of corn chips.
“Yeah, hey. But also… what the heck are you doing here?”
“Crashing,” she said, gesturing around.
Sure enough, she had a duffel bag open on the floor, the contents spilled all over. The couch featured a blanket, pillows, and the hoodie she must have discarded at some point.
She had a stream of a pro gambling game on the TV and had clearly raided my coffee station, given the scattered sugar packets and used mugs.
“Okay. And the follow-up to that would be… why are you crashing at my office?”
“Well, I lost my key to your apartment.”
“You don’t have a key to this office either.”
To that, a wicked little smirk spread across her gorgeous, super feminine face, making her chocolate brown eyes look lit from within.