Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
As he spoke, pressure started to build in her chest, like a balloon filling with water, expanding, expanding. She’d already known he needed some help connecting with his daughter—and no, it wasn’t her job. But she wasn’t a half-in, half-out kind of person. She’d inherited the all-or-nothing trait from her parents, who’d grown up in a closely knit neighborhood of Istanbul, raised to step in and help one’s neighbors at a moment’s notice without expecting anything in return. It might have been eight years since she’d lived with her parents, but she’d never stop valuing the act of lending a hand, especially her own.
However. This whole situation screamed messy.
If only she could stop thinking about him openly saying he loved Lissa in the kitchen and the way her lip had quivered in response. Who wouldn’t want more of that progress for a father and daughter? And was she forgetting the not so little fact that a room in Burgess’s dope as hell apartment came free? With a salary on top of it?
At this point, her bank account’s stomach was growling.
“Are you ready to tell me what’s holding you back from taking the job, Tallulah?” He took a very deliberate breath, in and out. “It’s getting harder and harder not to ask what I want to know.”
A cold iron pressed to the center of her sternum. “Burgess . . .”
“Did someone hurt you?” he asked, with a steep rise of his chest. “I’m sure you’re going to tell me it’s none of my business. And you’ll be right.” She watched his hands turn to fists in his pockets. “But understand me, I will make it my business if you ask me to.”
Over the course of their last two meetings, he’d obviously gotten the impression that her wariness of men stemmed from somewhere bad—and he was right. After all, it couldn’t come from somewhere good, could it? This was her private heartache, though. Did she want to share that with him? She wasn’t required to, by any means. Still, she found herself . . . wanting him to know. Wanting him to understand her wariness. Moreover, she didn’t want him harboring wrong impressions about what happened. “Nobody hurt me . . . physically. Not in a technical sense.”
He started, stilled, followed by his breath escaping in a gust. “No?”
“At least not in the way you’re thinking. Maybe what actually happened is better. Or maybe it’s worse. I might never know or understand.” Images she wanted to forget went screaming through her head like a movie in fast forward. The faint outline of hangers, the sliver of light beneath a door, the hysterical sounds on the other side. “But he would have hurt me, given the chance. And in some ways, I do feel . . . like I’m carrying scars.”
His eyes closed momentarily, fingers stretching and releasing at his sides. “I already hate everything about this. Please tell me, anyway.”
Perhaps because his concern was so tangible, she found herself continuing in a quiet voice. Working her way up to telling him things that only her family and Josephine knew about. “We moved to Florida from Istanbul when I was fourteen. My father was a developer and his firm had investment properties they wanted him to oversee. My mother had a really hard time adjusting. She missed the old neighborhood. But my sister, Lara, and I . . . we loved it in Florida. Made friends easily. They were always at our house.” A metallic taste coated her tongue at the simple act of picturing his face. “My sister was more selective when it came to dating, but I was an equal opportunity flirt. One of my sometimes boyfriends, as my sister called them, was Brett—and he seemed to understand that our relationship was only casual. We were mostly friends. And everyone adored him, including me. I mean, he was part of our family. He taught me how to drive a stick shift. He gushed over my mother’s kofta.” In her mind’s eye, she could see Brett approaching her on campus, holding a freshly printed class schedule and appearing equally surprised to see her. “Around the time my family moved back to Istanbul, I went to college, roomed with Josephine. Eventually we got an off-campus apartment. I dated. A lot. Brett and I stayed in touch online, but our interactions became farther and farther apart. He seemed to be back home, working for his dad’s car dealership. And then one day, my final year of undergrad, he was just . . . there. He’d transferred to FSU and rented the apartment right beside mine and Josephine’s.”
Burgess dragged a hand down his face, keeping his hand over his mouth. The words “Jesus Christ” were muffled, but still full of the same dread she could feel building in her chest.