Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Maybe when a man is flat out miserable, his body insists on letting the world know about it. Like an unconscious cry for help. I have the heartache version of a man cold.
Reaching toward the front of my desk, I brush a finger over the binoculars she picked out for me the night we traded gifts. “I wish I had something good to tell you,” I say, trying for a chuckle but it sounds like someone stepping on a bullfrog. “You’d…love her.”
There’s a pause. “Well if I’d love her, she can’t be stupid. I’d consider it pretty stupid if she let you get away.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated is a love triangle with a rodeo clown. Hank.” The zing of metal on the other end of the line tells me she’s made good on her painting knife threat. Or at the very least, she’s brandishing it like a weapon. “I swear. Roll your eyes one more time. I never loved that clown like I love your crabby ass. But we lived in the same house and you hadn’t spoken to me in nine months. Nine. Not a bless you or a how’s it hanging.”
There’s a grunt in the background.
“I’m crazy about you. But I’ll still carve out your eyeballs.”
Grunt. This one more affectionate.
Edna returns to the conversation with a sniff. “I can’t convince Hank to come with me to New York. He thinks there are too many people in our local Dairy Queen, let alone Fifth Avenue.”
I picture Hank standing in the middle of Times Square in his coveralls and it almost makes me want to smile for the first time in days. “You’ll bring him back something nice.”
“I’ll consider it. Now back to this girl. Why is it complicated?”
There isn’t a whole lot I can say in front of Leland and that’s the issue, isn’t it? I want to talk about Stella freely, but even the fact that I am harboring a reservoir of feelings for her is against policy. The company’s and my own personal one. Damn, I’ve wanted to break the rules every other minute since I walked out of her apartment. I’ve gone down to her window box just to catch the scent of her, to stand in the space she occupies every day and feel close to her. Countless times, I’ve thought to myself, go downtown. Make love to her. She will come around. She will see that we’re right.
There’s a roadblock inside of me, though, that I can’t seem to bypass.
I won’t sell us short or start a relationship with a lie. I won’t inadvertently put her in a position to feel…required to stay with me—or worse, sleep with me—because I employ her and she doesn’t want to lose her job. By now I hope she has some confidence that would never, ever happen, but assumptions are reckless and I won’t make them, especially in this case. Especially with someone who is crossing a vulnerable bridge in her life, like Stella.
All of this reasoning doesn’t keep me from missing her, though.
From needing her like hell.
I didn’t even turn my Christmas tree lights on this morning. Just sat there in the dark like a sad sack wondering if her apartment in Chelsea gets sufficient heat.
“You’re sighing again, Aiden.”
I drag a hand down my face, bristle scoring my palm. Did I forget to shave?
“I’ll tell you about it when you get here, Edna—”
My office door flies open. Linda, the receptionist, is standing there shoulder to shoulder with Jordyn. Wait. What is Jordyn doing all the way up here? She manages the main floor. And now she’s approaching my desk in a hurry, gesturing for me to hang up the phone. I don’t know how I’m positive in this moment that something isn’t right with Stella. I just know.
“Sorry, I have to go, Edna. Call you back.” I drop the phone into the cradle and it takes me a few seconds to place it correctly, my hand is suddenly so useless. “What’s wrong?”
Jordyn twists and twists the bracelet around her wrist. “Stella…”
That single word and I’m winded, my vocal cords tightening. “What happened?”
“Look, Mr. Cook. There is no way she did it.”
My phone is ringing. Two lines. What the hell is going on? I’m not answering. I’m not going anywhere or speaking to anyone else until I have the story. My muscles are seized up in anticipation of moving. Figuring out what’s going on and moving. “No way she did what?”
“They’re claiming she stole some earrings,” Jordyn explains, her outraged expression making it crystal clear what she thinks of the accusation. “I didn’t wait to hear the rest. I just came to get you. But I think security will have taken her to human resources.”
Jesus Christ. I’m already standing up, moving toward the door, Leland running to catch up with me. Wind is roaring in my ears. The concept of pressing the call button for the elevator makes no sense, so I don’t even bother. I go for the stairs.