Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
My heart softens as I stare into his flecks of jade.
I consider telling him about Mimi’s recent falls—like the nasty one this morning—and how I’m scared she’s declining quicker than I anticipated. I think about sharing that I don’t think I’ll ever get on top of my bills. I nearly explain that down deep, in the darkest hours of the night, I fear that every choice I’ve ever made is wrong, and I’ll regret it all at some point in my life.
Jason would be empathetic, jump into action, and try to help me. And sharing my reality with him would be a relief. I have few friends and no family beyond Mimi, so being honest with him would be nice.
That’s precisely why I don’t say a word.
At Brewer Air, I’m not the girl living in one of Nashville’s shittiest neighborhoods. My circumstances don’t color my coworkers’ perception of me because no one besides Nickie knows them—and she knows only the bits and pieces I choose to share with her.
I’m a normal twenty-five-year-old woman with everyday problems at work. And I want to keep it that way.
I don’t need pity or a knight in shining armor. I need to figure out a way to solve my problems myself.
“Tate’s analogies almost killed me,” I say instead. “That’s what happened this morning. I adore your brother, but his analogies are horrendous.”
Jason sits back, watching me curiously—not quite believing my about-face.
“If you aren’t a golfer, the terminology doesn’t translate,” I say, talking fast to distract him. “It took me too long to realize that a caddie wasn’t a Cadillac. He said the caddie was carrying his clubs, and I sat there trying to figure out why he didn’t just use a golf cart. Then I started wondering what kind of Cadillac, and I started humming this song about a Cadillac ranch my mom used to listen to when I was a child.”
“I’ll talk with Tate and tell him to ease up on the analogies.”
“On behalf of the staff that were present, thank you.” I lick my lips, needing to fill the void and control the conversation before he digs deeper into my morning. “Did you beckon me to your office to discuss Tate’s analogies, or can I return to work? I need to confirm a few appointments for next week and follow up with Gannon’s office about using one of our jets for meetings in New York on the fifteenth.”
“Can we accommodate that?”
“Yes. I had to shuffle a few things around, but we made it happen. Also, while I have you, Ford Landry moved your call from two this afternoon until the day after tomorrow, and I scheduled a massage for you at home tonight at seven.”
He looks at the ceiling and sighs. “I don’t need a fucking massage.”
“Yes, you fucking do. You’ve had a headache all week.”
He focuses his attention on me again. “How do you know?”
“Because you’ve had a bottle of acetaminophen on the corner of your desk since Monday, and you’ve been more difficult than usual.”
His gaze softens, going from slight irritation to unguarded ease in seconds. I watch as his shoulders fall and the lines across his forehead relax. A small smile ghosts his lips.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been difficult,” he says. “I don’t mean to be.”
I stand, fighting a smile. He really is such a good man. “I know you don’t. And you haven’t been that bad. I’ve seen you much grumpier.”
“Yet you still work for me.”
“It will take a lot more than you being grumpy to make me leave.” I wink at him and turn to my office. “I need an answer on Rigglen. Today, if possible.”
He doesn’t reply. So I pause with a hand on the doorframe and look at him over my shoulder. He’s watching me curiously, as if uncertain what to say.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m the boss around here. But when I’m with you? I question it.”
“Smart man.” I smile at him. “You have a call in ten minutes with Towlin. Don’t forget.”
I hold my breath, anticipating Jason’s grimace—my heart hurting for him. Calls with his attorney always increase his stress, and I hate adding them to his calendar.
“Thanks,” he says, sighing. “What are you working on this afternoon?”
There are a hundred things I need to do this afternoon, and I could rattle them off with ease. But if I do that, Jason will start worrying about it all. Instead, I decide to tease him and take his mind off his problems for one more moment.
“The first thing I’m going to do is thank Thomas,” I say, grinning.
“Not on my fucking clock.”
I giggle and swing the door closed.
“I mean it, Chloe,” he says, the words sneaking in before the latch shuts.
My giggle turns into laughter as I toss the card on my desk.
I will get more enjoyment out of jealous Jason this week than with try-hard Thomas this weekend. And if things were different—if I wasn’t working for Jason and actually believed in happy endings—I could get a lot more enjoyment out of Mr. Brewer.