Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
She follows me to the front door. “No, you can’t. You know you can’t work the scanner. Or the shared calendar. And you don’t know how to negotiate like I do.”
“Fair points.” I’d be lost without her and she knows it. I give her a tight squeeze. “Besides, you’re my favorite employee.”
“Really? Cause your sister’s been calling here asking me to sneaky-book her an interview with you. I think she’s trying to take my place as your fave employee.”
My hand freezes on the handle of the front door. “Tell me you told her no.”
“Of course I did. But she sure could bring in a pretty penny. That banging little dancer’s body—”
Steeling my gaze, I give her the look I’ve been given so many times by Gabe. I throw in her full name for good measure. “Samantha.”
She holds up her paper-filled hand in surrender. “Okay, okay.”
“Goodbye.” I walk through the door, and it swings shut behind me. I give her a wave as I climb in the open car door. As we pull away, I can just make out the gesture she’s performing from behind the glass door of Sugar Daddies, A crude dance move, shaking her hips and waving her hand in front of her body in a spanking motion. I roll my eyes.
The driver knows where we’re headed. I busy myself on the ride, e-signing documents as Sam emails them to me. She finishes her last email with, love your fave employee, Sam.
I have to laugh. Sam keeps me on my toes. But Lexi is not working for us. Even if she does have a banging dancer’s body that I’ve often envied.
Contracts done for the moment, I sit back in my seat and take in a deep breath. Gazing out the window, I find we’re no longer anywhere near downtown. The distance between houses grows with each mile we drive. The homes become larger; the lots more spacious. Then, the stone walls and wrought iron gates begin to appear. These aren’t houses.
These are estates.
How could a long term care facility be this far out here? And how long have we been driving? This is the opposite direction from my apartment, too far to take a quick trip to visit mom.
And now, there are no houses.
Funny, now I see green grass. Perfectly manicured lawn stretches over the land—a rarity in our arid climate—and a wall of brown stone comes into view. A massive gate stands at the end of a drive. Only this time, I can’t see the home past the thick greenery that grows behind the gate.
The driver takes a turn, pulling up to the gate.
This place is going to be magnificent. It must be some kind of care home for aging billionaires. I can’t imagine what a day would cost to stay at a place with an entrance this grand, much less years. And we’re a good forty-five minutes from my apartment.
It was kind of Shane to find a place like this, but it won’t work. Should I tell the driver just to take me back, now? Then I remember Gabriel is waiting here for me—I’ll tell him face-to-face.
The gates seem to sense the car’s arrival and open automatically without the driver hitting the call button on the black box beside the gate. As we pull through I scootch up further in the backseat to get a better look out of the front widow.
My breath catches in my throat. We’ve arrived at some kind of Spanish-style private compound. The main house sprawls for ages, tan stucco with a red tile roof, wide balconies with wrought iron bars stretch across the upper floors of the front of the home.
I remember what Gabriel said about his house when we were sitting on the rocking chair at my mother’s. About how much room he had… this, this is not a compound. This… is his house.
As we travel around the semicircle driveway, I take it all in. There’s a guest house that’s a perfect miniature replica of the main house. And a pool. And a pool house. A five car detached garage. And is that a small… golf course?
The driver pulls up to the front door just as it opens. My heart stutters when I see Gabriel. Wearing a white button-down shirt and tan trousers, he looks like he is posing for a shoot as he stands before the massive, dark wood doors.
But he’s not. He’s just a guy, standing on his front porch. My guy. My heart warms, and I know for a fact that even if this man was standing in front of a trailer home right now, I would choose him all over again.
We must be here to pick him up and then we’ll go to the care home Shane found. The driver lets me out and I rush over to wrap my arms around his neck. “Hey, daddy. So this is where you live.” I lean up on tiptoe, kissing his lips.