Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 79938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
He wasn't wrong, so I didn't correct him.
"So when are you seeing him again?"
That was the question, wasn't it?
I had no idea.
And that, well, there was an unmistakable stabbing of disappointment when I realized it.
"We're casual, Benny," I said, shrugging, trying to keep it light even though my shoulders suddenly felt a bit more slump-y than usual.
"So when the mood strikes."
"Exactly," I agreed with a smile.
Apparently, the mood didn't strike that night.
Or the next.
Or the next.
And by Friday, I had pretty much started to, begrudgingly, accept that he had just fed me the fuck buddy line and talked about exclusivity to get me into bed, likely picking up on how it wasn't going to happen otherwise.
The smooth-talking, agreement-breaking, selfish asshole.
To say I was a bit, well, pissy, at work would be an understatement. In fact, I was apparently so unpleasant that Benny, good, sweet, everything-rolls-off-my-back Benny actually cut out early to avoid me as I closed up and headed into the bathroom at work to get into the stupid black dress with a slit and heels that pinched my toes, and did all my makeup and pulled up my hair and called a cab.
It was really not a good night to have to deal with Ethan.
Two assholes yanking my chain in one week.
I knew that was precisely what this dinner would entail- lots of platitudes and half-promises, and touches that weren't appropriate, but not completely inappropriate either, so I couldn't really call him out on it because he could just say he was being friendly. It wasn't like he grabbed my ass or brushed a hand over my boobs or anything. He touched my hip to guide me to the table, hand just a tad too low. He pulled out my chair and his finger brushed down my arm. When my hand rested on the table, he rested his on top of it.
And, normally, this was just Ethan. It was just how it always was at a meeting with us.
But me, well, I was in full-on bitch-mode inside and everything he did grated against my already frayed nerves.
"I know you're disappointed, Kenny," he said, voice smooth. Ethan was nothing if he wasn't a slick bastard. Emphasis on bastard. Or maybe that was just my bruised pride talking. It was hard to tell anymore.
All I knew was it took every ounce of self-control to not snap at him as he handed the check off to the waitress and moved to stand, carefully buttoning his jacket, and moving toward me to pull out my chair. Which meant I would have to brush his body in the small space as I stood.
"It's fine, Ethan. I expected it." My tone was chilly, but not altogether snippy.
"You're just..." he started, hand going to my hip to guide me like I somehow forgot how to get to the front door of Famiglia all of a sudden.
"A risk," I finished for him, my spine turning to steel, and my chin rising a little. I was getting really, really sick of hearing that.
"I knew you would understand," he said, giving me what was a genuinely apologetic smile as we stepped into the somewhat damp night air, the wind blowing in from the shore, something that never used to, but now always made me think of freaking Pagan. The asshole.
I felt some of the anger drain away because, despite my vested interest in expanding, I truly did understand. "It's not a big deal," I offered. Just my dream. Just my future. Just my life.
"Come on," he said, still doing the sad-eye thing that, somehow, made the sadness replace the anger inside me as well, "let me drive you back home. No reason to call a cab now."
"Actually," I said as he led me down the stairs and, for once, I was happy that he had a hand on me because they were a little slick from the wet air, and my heels were of the icepick variety, "you can just bring me to the shop. I forgot to check the schedule for tomorrow. I don't want to be late," I lied, a little too easily for my own comfort.
"You work too much," he said as he helped me into his very nice car and closed the door.
He thought I worked too much, but he wouldn't give me the out I desperately needed so I wouldn't have to keep working so hard. I wondered if he even saw it that way.
Business is business, I reminded myself silently as his hand went behind my headrest and his body curled toward me to look out the back window as he reversed.
I hated that phrase the first time I heard it. I felt it sanitized something that was anything but clean. It gave the higher-ups on the totem poles, the ones with the power, the chance to justify treating everyone beneath them worse- slashing benefits, cutting hours so they didn't have to offer them in the first place, offering slave wages while their pockets got fatter.