Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
His confirmation makes my building owner’s face the most furious I’ve seen. Isaac is pissed, and the entirety of his focus is on Mr. Richler, whose bully-like composure withers when Isaac learns unsafe building practices didn’t solely compromise the safety of dozens of Ravenshoe families.
They could have also affected his wife.
Isabelle dazzles in a white sequin dress at Isaac’s right. She is a perfect Christmas angel and seemingly the only person capable of weakening her husband’s wish to kill when he learns tonight isn’t the first time she’s been inside this building this week.
As Officer Holt assures Isaac her safety was never compromised, Isaac glares at Mr. Richler. His toothy snarl is an exact replica of the one Christian hits Mrs. Richler with when she shows up to a battle unarmed.
23
CHRISTIAN
Angel’s eyes are on the brink of bursting when she drinks in the neighbors she’s known for decades being loaded into a bus brought in by Holt Industries. Since they don’t have another home base like their wealthy counterparts, they will be transported to a local shelter.
The dam in Angel’s eyes hasn’t broken since her outburst in Mrs. Roach’s apartment, but it is close to spilling over when she asks, “Where are they going?”
“For tonight, they’ll stay at a shelter.” She huffs, forcing me to talk faster. “It is only for the night, and it isn’t as bad as it sounds. The rich fools who live here have tossed so much money into this town that the shelter has a five-star Yelp rating.”
That gets a laugh out of her. I’m glad. I don’t have time to ensure I am not responsible for her tears, not if I want to keep one of the many silent promises I issued her while carrying her down eighteen flights of stairs.
“And tomorrow?” She wets her cracked lips. “It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow. They should be home for Christmas.”
She peers at me with big glistening eyes when I murmur, “They will be.”
Her head shakes as she forces words from her mouth. “You said it isn’t safe.”
“It isn’t, but the building’s owner promised to do everything possible to get them home for Christmas. It will be a temporary fix, but it is better than having people displaced over the Christmas and New Year period.” I look at the guy barking more orders than the mayor before shifting my focus back to Angel. She looks exhausted, both mentally and physically. It makes what I say next so much more challenging. “I’ve secured you a room at a local hotel.”
She fans her hand over her chest. “Me?”
I nod. “Yeah.” I nudge my head at a construction crew piling out of trucks at the front of her building. “The more hands on this job, the more likely the promises given today will be granted.”
I don’t just mean the ones given to her neighbors.
I mean her as well.
“You weren’t taking the mickey”—her mimic of my accent is atrocious—“when you said you’re a building inspector?”
My hair flops side to side when I shake my head. “I started as a carpenter before slowly building my way up to civil engineering. My first job was on an old relic like this one.” I stray my eyes over her building. “I went from sleeping on her warped floorboards to sanding them back to their full glory.”
Angel looks confused. I understand why. I never tell anyone how Jimmy and I learned the tools of our trades because we moved from abandoned construction site to abandoned construction site when our mother passed away shortly before my sixteenth birthday.
Too confused not to seek clarification, Angel says, “Isn’t your company about moving on rogue tenants?”
My lips crack into a smile. “No.”
“But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
I smile at her cute daft face before disclosing, “I’m here because I wanted to purchase your apartment… along with the many other apartments Mrs. Richler assured me would soon come on the market at a basement bargain price.” With one truth comes another. “My brother gave me some tips on how I could move on difficult tenants when I told him about the delay in the processing of the sale.” I huff. “I didn’t know you had a legitimate claim to stay, because Mrs. Richler declared you were a squatter.” I work my jaw from side to side, frustrated. “She also sold a handful of apartments that were not hers to sell. Her foolishness means she won’t be coming home for Christmas for a very long time, if ever.” I lower my eyes to Angel, feeling guilty when I spot how wet her eyes are. “What I said earlier was out of line.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” I object. “You matter. And so does your family’s legacy.”
Her smile is unexpected but very much wanted. “Then keep your promise.”
She stands and then presses her shaky lips to mine. It is a PG kiss, but the construction workers carry on like half of Angel’s face isn’t still covered with body paint and long, wiry green hairs.