Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 95311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
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Elliott paced the bathroom, looking much like a lion in too small a cage- full of furious energy. He was cursing himself, words he would never utter aloud about another living soul. But himself. His stupid, idiotic self.
She was clearly trying to apologize. She being every bit as awful at communication as him, she meant to do it physically. It was an act he should have accepted. And instead he punished her. Treated her coolly and abandoned her afterward. Because his own feelings had been hurt from the night before.
He had seen something was wrong when she had come in but he had been too impatient to show her his gift that he hadn't even acknowledged it. And then she said the one thing he didn't want to hear from her. He had already phoned Dan's lawyers that afternoon and informed them that he was going to give in to her monetary demands. Just to get her out of his life. For Hannah. And she threw Dan in his face.
Like he had been a great fool for falling into Dan's greedy claws.
Like he didn't know just what a prize Hannah was.
But he did. When James had finally gotten the words out of him, he realized how much he wanted to be with her. How he liked her spunk. How she became haughty, almost pretentious when she was riled. How she showed affection with touch. How she was tough and delicate all at once. How she could put him in his place with just a raised eyebrow. And then he went and pushed her away because his pride was hurt.
Elliott slammed his fist down on the marble counter top, pulled the door open, and strode quickly back into the hallway. To find nothing but his clothes there.
He could picture her there afterward, hurt and confused, while he ran off like a child. What must she have thought of him?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hannah stormed up the stairwell toward her apartment, too embarrassed to show up at a hotel crying and half-naked. She unlocked the doors and locked all the locks behind her. She flicked the light on, fleetingly sure that she had left them on the last time she left. She shrugged it off, blaming her mood.
But she systematically went through the house, checking behind furniture and inside closets with the biggest frying pan she owned in her hand and a cell phone in the other. Finding nothing, she put the tea kettle on and walked into the bathroom.
She took a shower, the water hot enough to turn her skin red, until she heard the screaming of the kettle. She threw on an old pajama set with pictures of candy all over it and walked into the kitchen.
The pain had subsided to a constant, dull ache in her chest. Inwardly she started taking some of the blame. Had she been open and honest with Elliott, she knew most of the events of the past two days could have been avoided had she told him what was going on. She could imagine telling him, his face opening up in shock then snapping shut in anger. Would he have insisted on having some kind of company meeting? Get his own investigator? Would he insist she stay by his side until it was all straightened out?
Hannah reached for an old box of chamomile tea knowing she would have to cringe her way through drinking it but hoping it would help settle her nerves. She heard a creaking. The kind of sound an older building made. Settling, her father would call it. But Hannah felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and she turned slowly.
Her teacup fell from her hand, falling to the floor in what seemed like slow motion. The delicate china splintered in every direction and the hot yellowish liquid spread across the cheap linoleum.
Because right there in her kitchen was someone dressed head to toe in black. A ski mask revealed only the tiniest sliver of skin and eyes.
Hannah felt like she stood there frozen for hours when only seconds passed. Her intruder staring at her, unmoving. Hannah snapped out of it, reaching for the frying pan she had put down. But she found it out of reach and before she could even take a step, the person in black was right in front of her, reaching out, grabbing her arm.
Then it was like everything switched into fast-forward, her body having a mind of its own when the only thought she could process was how scared she was. The blood she could suddenly feel racing through the veins in her arms, the heart hammering in her chest, the sick feeling in her belly.
Her body twisted, wrenching free of the vice-like grip on her arm. But then hands were reaching out, grabbing at her shoulders. One landed in her hair and pulled savagely, making her knees buckle from beneath her. Her knees hit the floor with a shooting pain that radiated both up and down. But the hand released her and she scrambled on all fours toward the living room, shards from her shattered teacup slipping into the skin of her palms. Small porcelain splinters.