Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
He told me to stay in my lane and concentrate on my own job. Then he stormed away from me when we got back to the hotel and slammed his room door behind him.
Petulant idiot.
I grab Laurie’s wrist and pull; she moves an inch. I pull again and she moves another inch. Then I drop her wrist and collapse onto the floor on my butt.
“This is too much. You’re too heavy,” I whine, wiping my brow on my arm. “You absolute heavy lightweight.”
“What exactly are you doing?” Mr. C’s voice comes from somewhere behind me.
“I killed her and I’m getting rid of the body.” I stand, grab and pull again. “What does it look like I’m doing?” I’ve never taken such a tone with him but I’m still a bit sore about his treatment of me earlier.
He approaches and looks down at the snoring girl.
“How much did she drink?”
“The entire bar,” I respond, laughing when she giggles in her sleep. “Can you… maybe… help me?”
“I suppose I don’t have a choice,” he replies, his lips twitching.
He crouches beside the snoring female and hooks her arm around his neck. Then he stands with her, not as easy as it looks, and moves towards my room, grunting at how deadweight she is. I quickly open the door and hold it as he squeezes past. He’s wearing that citrussy aftershave again. So nice.
“Thank you,” I mutter and Laurie groans in his arms.
She wakes up and nuzzles his neck.
“Ugh… yes! Best night ever,” Laurie announces, her words slurring. I throw one of her shoes out of the way, so he doesn’t trip, almost stumbling on the other one myself as I go. “You’re so handsome, Mr. C!”
“Thank you,” he replies, thankfully sounding amused.
“Rose thinks you’re old and boring, but I think you’re sooooo hot.”
Oh God. She just had to.
I press the heels of my palms to my eyes and turn around to compose myself. My cheeks are on fire.
Laughing, he deposits her on her bed, and before I can even count to six, she’s snoring again.
Now I don’t know what to say or do.
“Goodnight, Rose,” he tells my back and I hear him move to the door. Just as he pulls it open, I call his name. Unable to stop myself.
He halts and asks, his tone amused, “Yes, Rose?”
“I didn’t call you boring,” I insist, looking at him now with wide eyes. I twist my hands in front of me. “I never once said that.” Then, when he just continues to stare at me, I add with a cringe, “I did say you were old though… but not like you look old because you don’t but just because she’s got a bit of a…” I’m rambling. I inhale and get to the point. “You’re not boring, and you don’t look old.”
Now I exhale. I think that went well.
I count, tapping my foot on the floor six times and then six again.
He stares at me forever. His eyes trailing over my face, making me feel self-conscious and on the spot. “Why six?”
“Sorry?”
“You usually always count in sixes when you do your… thing.”
Oh God. He noticed. Of course, he did.
He walks to my minibar and opens it, peering inside for a moment, bending over to fully see the contents. Glass clinks as he moves things around and then stands with two cans of ready mixed whiskey and lemonade.
“Why six?” he asks again, sitting on one of the two comfy armchairs by the big windows overlooking the strip. He passes me a drink and I accept it while claiming the armchair across from his. There’s approximately a meter of distance between the front left leg of his chair and the front right leg of mine.
I push my hair back and smile a cringe. It’s not something I talk about because it brings the mood down.
“My parents abandoned me when I was six.”
“Oh…” He wets his lips, such kissable-looking lips. Mrs. Conti is a lucky lady. Not that I want to kiss him. It’s just an observation. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me too, I’d have liked parents growing up. Sometimes I really needed them.”
“I can imagine,” he replies, smiling sadly. “Did they just up and leave one day?”
I shake my head and cringe again. “No, they erm… physically abandoned me on train tracks in the middle of nowhere.”
His jaw hits the floor, showing his pink tongue and unblemished teeth. “What the fuck?”
“Yeah, they told me to count the tracks until I reached two hundred and then they’d be back.”
With wide eyes he splutters for something to say.
“They never came back.” I sip my drink. It’s nice, if not rather bitter. “I got to one hundred and eighty before the train came. Which is six multiplied by thirty. And thirty is also a multiple of six. I focused on the numbers a lot. Can you tell?”