Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
She rolled her eyes.
“Or like the time when you wanted to discuss the gift I’d ordered my mother and Birch for their crystal wedding anniversary and how it wasn’t personal enough, no pressure?” I lifted my chin. “I still say you can’t get more personal than a Swarovski-encrusted Rolls-Royce. You can put your entire person inside of it, for god’s sake. And it was expensive.”
“So what?” She folded her arms over her chest. “The gift you ended up getting them was so much better. Your mother told me Birch cried when he opened the first box—”
I tried not to squirm in my seat. “Or is it like a couple weeks ago,” I went on quickly, “when you no pressure strong-armed me into accepting Liam’s invitation, even though you know Frank hates traveling during the holidays and I swore I’d rather dry-shave my balls than attend another wedding this year?”
“You’d regret missing it. You’ve adored Liam for years.” She caught her lip between her teeth. “Aside from the melancholy period after you dated, of course.”
“Of course,” I agreed dryly. “Aside from that.”
Lesya had seen enough of my relationships over the years to chart their phases like cycles of the moon—periods she referred to as the rush, the honeymoon, the rocks, the melancholy, and the renaissance—and to tease me about them. Realizing that she was correct—that every single relationship I’d ever had followed the same horrible pattern—had been a deciding factor in my decision not to date anymore, period.
“Or are we talking no pressure,” I continued, “like that time you read that article about the history of ‘bring your kid to work day’ and wanted to discuss disparities in access to mentorship for kids in disadvantaged neighborhoods, and I got stuck mentoring a bunch of teenagers?”
“Got stuck.” Lesya outright snorted at this bullshit. “You mean the time you created and funded a nationally recognized and award-winning mentorship program that’s been replicated in over a hundred other school districts?” She lifted an eyebrow and nodded at the bookshelf behind my desk. “Nice picture of you and Letisha over there, by the way. I had no idea you went to MIT to visit that particular teenager.”
I turned to look at the picture like I hadn’t been the one to put it there. In it, my most recent mentee, Letisha, stood in front of the MIT Stata Center, arms thrown wide and grinning wildly, while I stood proudly beside her. “It was only for an hour when I was in Boston for the CurEsys deal,” I said, turning back around. “Her patent got assigned for examination, and I wanted to see how she was settling in at school. She’s loving every minute, by the way.”
Leyva’s face softened. “It was a good thing you did, paying her way.”
“Me?” I scoffed, feeling my face go warm. “Nah. She received an anonymous scholarship.”
“Right,” Lesya said softly.
I cleared my throat. “Enough hedging. You have something to discuss with me, you said. Out with it. What good deed are you no-pressure-pressuring me to do today, O Wise One? Single-handedly ending global warming? Acquiring you and twenty deserving orphans some Taylor Swift tickets?”
She snorted. “First of all, I would never ask you to get me concert tickets.” She lowered her voice. “And second, we both know who the Swiftie is around here, Mr. Knows-All-Ten-Minutes-of-All-Too-Well.”
“You swore you’d never bring that up,” I said, all offended dignity. I braced my forearms on my desk and leaned toward her. “And stop stalling. What do you need me to do?”
Lesya laughed, then sighed again. “I don’t need you to do anything,” she said, shifting back into her seat listlessly. “It’s just… Mila’s getting married, remember? And I love her. You know how much I love her. But my sweet baby sister is turning into a Bridezilla, and she’s transferring her stress onto me. And I figured since you go to so many weddings…”
I widened my eyes in alarm. “Do not ask me to attend your sister’s wedding, I beg you.”
“I wouldn’t,” she assured me. “No, it’s that her wedding photographer, the one she spent months researching, just canceled, and she needs a new one. And I realize there are, like, ten thousand photographers in New York—which I told her—but she can’t hire just anyone, she needs the best one, and the best ones book up years in advance. Seeing as how you’ve been to a few weddings, if you know anyone who might have an opening…”
The rush of temptation was so strong it stole my breath for a moment.
Three months of no contact with Hugh didn’t mean I’d stopped thinking about him. In fact, only a few short days after Wells and Conor’s wedding, I’d begun to suspect that when Hugh had teasingly boasted about our night being unforgettable and un-toppable… he’d been speaking the absolute truth.