Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“Tiffany,” he says, with a serious stare. “Take it, please.”
“Cool, yeah, alright. Ta for that,” I reply, and stuff it into my hoodie pocket. I glance about the place, and it’s a right fucking mess. Should have used towels. “Need any help cleaning up?”
“No thanks, that’s my responsibility, not yours.”
“Good luck.”
It’s a relief when he laughs along with me, our connection reignited.
“I had a great time. Truly.”
“Something else we have in common.” I give him a wink. “I’ll be keeping an eye out for the next proposal. Get it in quick, my schedule is rammed.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
This place is suddenly stifling. The heat is from way more than just my hoodie. It’s from him.
I march straight over to the door with a see ya, but he steps forward.
“Wait,” he says before I turn the handle. “I wasn’t joking about the confidentiality agreement, Tiffany. This is breaking the code of conduct and if anyone finds out –”
I cut him off with a finger to my lips.
“I’m not an idiot. Pinky promise, remember?” I give him a wave before I leave. “See you around.”
“Yes. Keep an eye on your notifications.”
I make it down to reception before I start to get dizzy. Real fucking dizzy. I lean against the reception desk, trying to act casual as I get the night porter to call me a cab, dabbling in stupid small talk as I wait for it to arrive.
Had a nice stay?
Yeah, thanks. This place is cool. Time runs away when you’re having fun, doesn’t it? Loved the lasagne by the way. Yum.
The night porter seems a nice guy.
“Saw you in there with your dad earlier.”
Holy fuck, if only he knew.
I go along with it.
“We live in different places, you know. Sometimes it’s cool to meet halfway, and I get a decent chocolate sundae out of it.”
Blah blah blah.
I feel queasy at the thought of Reuben just a few flights upstairs. I’ve got butterflies upon butterflies wanting to get back up there and throw myself into his arms like a crazy bitch.
I breathe a sigh of relief when the cab pulls up, ready to drive me back to some semblance of normality, but the relief wears off as soon as the hotel disappears around a corner.
Because I don’t want a semblance of normality. I don’t want my apartment and a hot bath, and my calendar packed with bookings set to whisk me right through bastard Christmas.
I want Reuben.
I send my usual D&S message to Josh, since the proposal is marked on my calendar. Cool, he replies with a thumbs-up emoji. Have a good time?
The butterflies sail into a needy pit in my guts, ready to spill the beans. I want to tell Josh all about it – to talk through the craziness with my best friend and get some perspective. But I can’t do that. Not only because of the pinky promise to Reuben, but because he’d tell me I’m fucking insane.
Reuben is a goddamn founder, and this could cost me my whole career.
Josh would get me straight back onto my psychotherapist and have me make another pinky promise. One that states I’ll have nothing more to do with this craziness whatsoever. No Reuben Sinclair and dabbling in Agency founder business. He’d say I should never have touched it in the first place.
And he would be right. I should never have touched it in the first place – but my fingers are already burned.
It was cool, I message back to him. My butt hurts pretty bad, though.
He sends a laughing emoji.
I’d be surprised if it didn’t. I know what you’re like, Tiff.
I shove my phone back in my pocket, but it sounds out again. Another message from Josh.
Are you coming over tomorrow? Me and Ells want to see you.
Shit. I’ve been avoiding this. The inevitable conversation where the two of them try to convince me to join them at Josh’s family gathering for Christmas lunch. I usually go, even though Caroline – his youngest sister, who’s been a pain in my ass since we were teenagers – is always there, being a pain in my ass, like she always has been since we were teenagers.
I’ve been playing the Christmas Day thing down whenever it’s come up recently, saying nah, I’m busy. Or nah, you and Ells should make the most of your first family Christmas in private this year, but they won’t have it. This will be a serious ‘sit down and talk about it’ job – because Josh knows what the real deal is. Like he said, he knows exactly what I’m like.
He knows full well the real reason I don’t want to be there at Christmas dinner this year.
I won’t want to see Caroline’s baby bump as she sits there loved up with her amazing fiancé. Getting uncomfortable around smiling families at shopping malls is hard enough, but doable. Christmas dinner with Caroline would be off the scale, though. Even the thought of it gives me feel sick. Baby talk, and fawning, and Pinterest boards of nursery décor would take up at least ninety percent of the conversation all day fucking long.