Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“Oh, a friend,” she says, clearly intrigued. “This wouldn’t be a lady friend, would it?”
“It is, actually. She’s someone I’ve been wanting you to meet for a while. I think you’ll like her. She’s…special.”
And she is. That isn’t a lie, a fact that makes it easier to push guilt aside as Mom coos, “Oh, Hunter, I’m so happy to hear that! So happy. You have no idea. I can’t wait to meet her! What’s her name?”
“Elaina,” I say. “We met in Maine last year, and she’s just moved to the city.”
“For you? Oh, please, tell me it’s for you, and you’re finally thinking about settling down,” Mom says, so delighted I can’t help but smile.
“Well, we have moved in together.” I cut off her happy gasp with a firm, “But nothing is set in stone. I have to introduce her to you first. Make sure she has the Margaret seal of approval.”
Mom laughs. “Oh, stop. You think I don’t know my own son? You’re going to do as you darn well please, no matter what I have to say about it. You were born knowing your own mind. And I’m glad. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, better than I had when I was young, that’s for sure.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, wondering what she’d think about my “good head” if she knew just how far I’d gone to give her the happily ever after she’s always wanted for me.
Or the appearance of it, anyway…
“See you tonight,” I add. “I’m about to head into the subway.”
“See you tonight. And your special girl!” Mom ends the call, and I shoot off a text to Elaina, confirming that dinner with my mother is on, and that I’ll pick her up at six.
Just a few seconds later, she shoots back—Great. I’m already going stir crazy in here. Your house is too clean. I can’t find anything to keep me busy now that I’ve rearranged your spice cabinet and taken over half your closet.
Lips twitching, I suggest—You could head to the pool. Or the gym, work on that cardio your doctor suggested.
She sends over three laughing emojis and then—Oh, I’m not going to the gym, you silly man. I don’t “gym.” I am not that girl. I walk and frolic in the ocean and dance until midnight. I don’t gym. Besides, I think I got my cardio in last night, don’t you?
My cock stirs at the thought of everything we did last night, reminding me why I need to find an excuse to stay away from the apartment.
And why I need to stop flirting with Elaina over text…
I reply—I do. And I’m sure you’ll find something to occupy your time. You’re a creative woman. Have to run. Business calls. I’ll be at the office for the rest of the day. Too many fires to put out to work from home this afternoon.
She shoots back a thumbs up and a chipper—See you later! Good luck!—and I slide my cell back into my pocket.
I do, in fact, go to the office, and do my best to remain occupied, but I’ve done too good a job clearing away the extraneous bullshit.
When I left my old firm, I promised myself I would delegate more, clearing my calendar so that I only dealt with the parts of the deal that I loved. As a result, I have a team of highly skilled individuals taking up the slack, leaving me little to do by four o’clock except pace my office, staring out over the buildings of lower Manhattan toward my penthouse, where Elaina is waiting.
Finally, I decide to hit the gym myself, just to burn off the energy that floods through me every time a memory of last night or that evening in the lifeguard stand flashes through my head. I go to the gym in my office building, the better to avoid close proximity to the woman currently testing the limits of my control, and then shower and change back into my suit for the ride uptown in five o’clock traffic.
It takes nearly an hour to reach my building. The subway would have no doubt been faster, but I’m grateful to be spared the sticky summer heat below ground and any extra time with Elaina before it’s time to leave.
Still, when I walk into the apartment a few minutes after six, to find Elaina lounging on the leather couch where I fucked her, wearing a vintage cocktail dress in deep blue that makes her look like she stepped out of an old movie, I’m instantly hard. Her dark hair is swept up, exposing the elegant curve of her neck, and memories of dragging my teeth over her sweet skin make me ache for a taste of her.
“There you are,” she says, rising to her feet, letting the magazine in her hands drop to the cushion. “How was your day, dear?”