Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
"Ms. Lee?" A smooth voice asks.
I turn and see Shep's assistant. Aalock, though he prefers Lock. An Indian man with a British accent, a sleek suit, and gorgeous brown eyes.
I'm not sure which is sexier—his voice or his broad shoulders. I try to hold on to that. To fill my head with images of his hands on my skin, his voice in my ears, his body over mine.
It doesn't happen.
My head goes to Shepard.
My thighs clench.
"Mr. Marlow sent me the news." He motions to the car behind him. Not the limo from last night. An expensive sports car. The kind of toy that screams Shep. "Would you like a ride home?"
"Home?"
"Or you can offer us the key. I have a team ready to pack your things and move them into Mr. Marlow's penthouse. They're ready to remake your room." He opens the door for me. "There's already a room furnished. But, to be honest—" He looks over my outfit. "It's not your style."
"My style?"
"You're a beautiful woman, Ms. Lee. And a modern one. Mr. Marlow… he had a different idea about the spare room."
I raise a brow.
Lock's laugh is hearty. Full-bodied. "He doesn't know you as well as he thinks, does he?"
"Are you allowed to say that?"
He runs an invisible zipper over his lips. "I have an idea." He offers his hand.
I take it.
Lock takes my coat. He walks me around the car. Lets me into the passenger seat. "Tell me what you'd like in your room and I'll take you somewhere you can find it."
"What if I'd like to go to Ikea?"
He clinches my seatbelt, closes the door, gets into the car on his side. "Ms. Lee, I enjoy your company already, but I won't allow you to bring Ikea into our home."
"You have something against the Swedes?"
"God forbid, you want to go there and eat some of those awful meatballs."
"They're better than they look."
"Thank God I'm a vegetarian." He shakes his head.
"They have veggie meatballs."
Mock horror streaks his expression. "Ms. Lee, please, spare me this pain. Tell me you don't want an Ikea Modern style." He says the words with an eye roll in his voice.
I can't help but laugh. Yes, he works for Shep, but he's funny. Warm. Kind. And, as the manager of Shep's personal life… I guess he works for me too. Or he will soon. "Do you have something else in mind?"
"Of course, love." He turns the key, bringing the car to life.
Damn, it has a kick. It's been a long time since I've been in the front seat of a car. Longer since I've driven. I always take the subway. Unless I'm running late or traveling when the train schedule is a crawl.
"If you're not sure, I know just the place. Totally you."
"How do you know it's me?"
"Trust me. I have a feel for these things."
We head straight to a furniture store in midtown. I've never heard of it. Never seen it before. But it's perfect. Just my style.
I pick out a bed, a desk, a dresser. Frames to hold posters I haven't bought yet.
The decorator discusses color scheme, theme, feel. I rattle off a few buzz words. Bright, vibrant, alive.
A place that's exciting yet safe. A place that's mine. A place that's filled with the things I love.
Tea, family, classic films, Broadway icons.
Lock overhears me. Offers to purchase tickets for me and Shepard. For tonight.
It's a sweet offer, but I can't say yes just yet. I can't agree to extra time with him just yet. It's enough I'm living in his apartment, at his beck and call, for some reason he can't explain.
Shepard is many things. Patient isn't one of them. Even if he was waiting until he was sober, he's had a year. He's had chances.
He's been in New York all this time. Sure, we haven't talked, but we've locked eyes. I've felt all that unspoken history pass between us.
If he wanted to do this to prove he could, to have some hold over me, to win me back—
He would have done it a long time ago.
There must be something else.
Yes, I need money now more than ever. But I needed it last month and the month before. I don't believe he's been biding his time, waiting until I was desperate enough to accept his offer.
Maybe I'm naïve. Maybe I'm blinded by memories. Maybe I'm a damn fool.
But I do believe there's good in him. I do believe he wants the best for me.
I finish with the decorator. Let Lock drive me to Shepard's penthouse.
A new building in a gentrifying neighborhood. Hell's Kitchen. Far west, right along the Hudson.
We park in an underground garage. Next to three other cars Shepard owns. The color is a dead giveaway. Bright red.
His favorite color on me. The color of everything he owns.
I should get used to it.