Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
They offer the world. That’s what they did to my dad. They made him promises, so many promises, and all he had to do was send a little more money, just a little bit more, and all their problems would disappear, and my father would become a very wealthy man. Just do a little more, just go a little further.
Until one day my father raised his head and saw that he’d gone too far, and he had nothing left.
Simon will do the same to me. He’s promising money, he’s promising comfort and security, but there will be catches and clauses and always more to give. I can’t do that to myself. I can’t do that to my father, either.
I keep my mouth shut. I go home, get a little sleep, start the next day. I make bagels, fry eggs, cook bacon, and smell like sandwiches. I shower off, put on my blacks, and head into Cucina.
It’s the second day and my last chance.
“You seem twitchy tonight,” Rachel comments on our break. She’s smoking away and texting like her thumbs are about to fall off. “What’s the deal? You keep looking at the door like you expect someone.”
She’s right, I keep staring at the entrance hoping Simon will swoop in, hoping that he’ll take this decision away from me, but he doesn’t. He’s not going to. That’s not the kind of man Simon is. He needs his victims to come to him.
“I’m totally fine. Just one of those nights.”
“God, don’t I know it.” She rolls her eyes, puts her phone aside, and launches into a story about how Danny got in a fight with the Domino’s delivery guy, which makes me hate Danny even more and also start to question her taste in both men and pizza. I’m not sure which is worse.
The night continues. I get tips, run food, take orders, do my damn job. I think about Simon constantly, but I force myself to stay clear of Ethan. When it’s time to close, I throw myself into the work just to make the time go faster, and when that’s done, I practically run to my car.
Simon’s not there.
I’m disappointed. Honestly, I expected him to be sitting behind the driver’s seat again, taunting me. Instead, it’s just my car, with the stale gum in the center console and the sticky Diet Coke stains in the cup holders. No Simon, no suits, no husband, no future.
It’s not happening.
And on my drive back to my apartment, I keep thinking about my father sitting alone in his room sobbing over a bunch of old photographs.
He doesn’t deserve to feel this way. If I could hunt down the people that did this to him, I’d kill them all, and I wouldn’t even hesitate. Dad was always a good person, outgoing and generous to a fault, and now someone took advantage of him in his old age. They stole everything. They dangled lies, they manipulated, and they took far more than money.
But it’s too late. Two days have come and gone, and I made my choice.
As I head up to my apartment and unlock the door, I wonder if I can live with it.
Right up until I spot Simon sitting on my couch and start screaming.
“You’re going to wake the neighbors,” he says with a casual smirk and it’s his completely calm demeanor that snaps me out of my sudden fight-or-flight mode.
“What the fuck, Simon!” I throw my keys at him, really winging them at his face, and he dodges with a laugh as I slam my door behind me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m here for your answer.” He stretches his legs out, and a stab of embarrassment jolts into my core. His feet nearly touch the TV console against the wall opposite, and I’m very aware of my shabby little apartment: sitting area on the left, miniscule kitchen in the middle, and a combination of bedroom and curtained-off bathroom to the right. It’s the definition of efficiency.
“You could’ve called like a normal person.” I storm over to my refrigerator and take out a four-day-old bottle of rosé, pour myself a glass, and down it in two gulps, not really caring if it tastes stale. Alcohol is alcohol.
“I don’t have your number.”
Now he’s just fucking with me. “You have my credit score, dickhead. You have my number.”
He shrugs like that’s neither here nor there. “What do you think, topolina? Are you going to be my wife?” He gets up and I bite my lip to keep from groaning. It’s the way he said that word wife, and the way he’s looking at me like he wants to pin me down and take me like it’s our honeymoon here and now.
Which also terrifies me, because Simon’s absolutely enormous. His size is only underscored by how tiny my apartment is. This place wasn’t built for a man like him, and I’m forced to move back toward my bed just to put some space between us.