Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 80576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
My eye catches on the bottom drawer of her desk. It’s slightly ajar. I tug it open when I spot a manila envelope inside.
I yank it out and spill the contents all over her desk.
Messages. There are more than a hundred goddamn messages here.
All marked with a woman’s name and a note asking me to call back.
Some are more pointed than others, but they’re all looking for the same thing. They want more of what we shared.
I curse under my breath, knowing that Arietta has been subjected to this for so fucking long.
I grab the messages, including the one from Kallista. I shove them back into the envelope, drop all of it the wastebasket next to her desk, and I take off toward the elevators.
I need to make this right before I lose the only woman I’ve ever loved.
Chapter 50
Arietta
I step out of the shower after my hour long walk with Dudley. I needed the fresh air and the time to think.
I was going to confide in Sinclair when I came home from work early, but she’s interviewing someone for the next book she’s working on. She told me she doesn’t expect to be home for at least the next few hours.
After toweling off, I apply scented lotion to my skin.
I need the self-pampering time. It’s not only helped me think more clearly, but it’s a way for me to care for myself.
I haven’t always done that.
Moving to Manhattan was my first step in putting myself first.
I need to do that now too. What I had with Dominick was great while it lasted. It might have been short-lived, but it taught me not to undervalue myself.
I need more from the men I sleep with. Dominick taught me how great sex could be, and I’m not wasting time on anyone who doesn’t see my pleasure as important as his own.
Sprinting across the hallway naked, I hurry into my bedroom.
I tug on a pair of black yoga shorts and a matching tank top.
After I run a brush through my hair, I look at myself in my full-length mirror. I’m still wearing my contact lenses, so I’m not blindly staring at my blurred reflection the way I was the morning I took my lingerie selfie.
I laugh to myself when I think about that. I stumbled over my own feet the first time I tried posing for the image. My second attempt was more successful, although I didn’t know it until I slid my glasses back on and looked at the photo.
A knock at the apartment door sends me in that direction.
I ordered pizza twenty minutes ago. They have a thirty-minute free pizza promise, so I curse as I pad across the floor in bare feet.
The last two times I ordered it, it was free because the delivery person wasn’t familiar with Tribeca. It seems she’s found her bearings now.
I swing open the door.
The delivery person is there with a smile on her face, but it’s the man standing behind her that I can’t take my eyes off of.
Reaching into the inner pocket of his dark gray suit jacket, Dominick slides out his wallet. “I’ll take care of this.”
The delivery person shoots him a look over her shoulder. “She already paid for it.”
He pulls two hundred dollar bills from his wallet and hands them to her in exchange for the pizza. “Here’s a tip.”
“She already tipped...” Her voice trails as she gets sight of the cash. “Wow. Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiles at her. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I need to tell this beautiful woman that I’m crazy about her.”
***
“The kind of pizza a person loves says a lot about them.” Dominick steps into my home even though I haven’t invited him in.
I’ll play along with this game since I sense that he’s using it as a diversion. It won’t work, but I’ll humor him. “What is your favorite kind of pizza?”
“Hotdog.”
I work to hide a smile because I don’t want to give him that. I won’t give him that after what happened in Miami.
“You like hotdog pizza?”
He nods. “It’s an acquired taste. I acquired it when I worked at a pizza place for a day when I was fourteen.”
“You only worked there for a day?” I question.
“The owner knew Marti, and when my grandmother found out I went to get a job in a kitchen that wasn’t at Calvetti’s, I got supreme shit.”
I stare at him. Why does this feel so easy, yet so hard?
He drops the pizza box on the dining room table. “I would never cheat on you, Arietta.”
I thought he might figure out where my head is based on the message I left at the top of the stack on my desk.
“Kallista is Orson’s lawyer,” he explains. “He told me if I could work out a deal with her, I could have the contract.”