Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I bent down, tucking my head in between my knees, and tried to block out the rest of the world as I ran the numbers.
Five things I could see. I could see the black leather of my shoes, I could see the dark gray carpet on the floor of the car, I could see the glint of the metal rails that held the driver’s seat, I could see the back of the leather seat in front of me, and I could see the seam on the front of my pants.
Four things I could touch. I could touch the soft wool of my suit, I could touch the smooth, heated leather of the seat I was sitting on, I could touch the rough woven material of the seat belt across my lap, and I could touch the cool, sleek silk of my tie.
Three things I could hear. I could hear the soft classical music that the driver was listening to in the front seat, I could hear the traffic next to the car, and I could hear a woman shouting at a man on the sidewalk for stealing her cab.
Two things I could smell. I could smell the rich leather polish that the driver used on these seats, and I could smell the hot dogs from a cart right on the other side of my window.
And finally, one thing I could taste. I could taste the saltwater running down my face. Slowly, I reached up and touched my face, brushing the tears away. I hadn’t noticed that I had started to cry. I just prayed that the tears didn’t start flowing until I was already in the back of the car, hidden away from prying eyes.
I took several deep breaths as the car finally started to move again. I got myself together, wiping my eyes, straightening my tie, and sitting upright. The cold mask of indifference slid back over my features, and it was enough to get back to my apartment.
It took another twenty minutes before I was in my apartment in the Financial District, high above the hustle and bustle of the New York City streets. I was so far up it almost seemed calmer up here, looking out over the world at all of the problems that seemed smaller from this perspective. It was one of the reasons I loved this apartment so much.
I considered for a moment making an appointment with my physical trainer, to see if I couldn’t work out some of this anxiety, tension, and lack of control in a boxing class. It was actually why I started boxing, and lately, I’d been too busy to make it to the gym.
For a brief moment, I did consider making an appointment with the therapist I had used when I was younger. But I couldn’t risk it getting out that I was in therapy. There wasn’t anything wrong with being in therapy. Logically, I knew that, but I also knew that the stigma was still there, and it was just another mistake I was making that could be used as fodder on Page Six. I couldn’t do that. Hiring an escort had the same risk.
The thought of another woman in my bed made me a little sick.
Instead, I set an alarm on my phone and did something I hadn’t done in far too long. I took off my suit and went to bed.
Four empty hours later, I awoke feeling calmer. I was still overwhelmed, I was still stressed, but I was more in control. And that was what I needed to be.
It had occurred to me to cancel the dinner with Catherine and instead see if Luc or Marksen were up for a drink, or maybe even call my sisters and relive one of the nights we had when Amelia had made her escape from my mother’s clutches.
There were a few nights when the three of us would just hang out, watch movies, and eat pizza like we were born into a normal family.
The alarm on my phone sounded, reminding me that I had an appointment that, although I was not looking forward to it, needed to happen. Catherine and I needed to lay out exactly what was and wasn’t expected in our relationship and where we were going to go. It needed to happen tonight, and it needed to happen before my mother found out that we were having this meeting. This meeting would put me more in control of what was happening with my social calendar, which would be one less thing for me to stress about.
Still, I sent Amelia a text asking if she wanted to get together this weekend, and then I got dressed for my evening with Catherine.
Catherine, to her credit, did make us a reservation at some ridiculously upscale French restaurant that offered booths that were nestled into little alcoves and had curtains to give the diners a more private, intimate experience.