Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
The chapter of my life that involves billionaire Moses Winston is one I wish to hell I could forget, but the impact of that mentorship has haunted me for years. It’s time I’ll never get back, and it has changed me. It’s changed me in ways I’m not proud of.
“I got through all of that,” I half-lie because I am, for the most part, able to shoulder the grief of every profound loss I’ve suffered, and I’ve overcome the pain that I suffered when Winston’s misdeeds were uncovered. “I need to make things right with Evie.”
“I have a suggestion.”
I wave my hand in the air. “Spit it out. I’ll do anything to make her see I’m worthy of her. I need to fix this.”
“Go talk to Randall,” he says. “Explain what’s happening. Admit that we had an eye on Azelius, but your love for Evie is worth more than any deal. Own up to this, Reid. Show Evie you are the best man she’s ever met.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
Evie
“I forgot to show you this picture Callie took of that house.” Lottie drags her phone out of her purse. “It’s wild how something so rundown can look beautiful with the right photographer behind the lens.”
I gasp aloud when she spins the phone’s screen so I get a clear view of a black and white photograph. Dusk is falling over the city in the picture, so the streetlamp next to where I’m now standing casts a beam of light onto the sidewalk. It’s enough light to frame the yellow house I’ve been staring at for the past ten minutes.
I went inside Lottie’s new house with her because the couple who sold it to her invited us in for tea when we arrived on their doorstep. I sat and listened to them telling stories about the neighbourhood, so Lottie would have a heads-up about the other people living on the street.
When I asked about the yellow house, they both told me they had never met the owner, but a man stops by to cut the grass. He hasn’t been by in weeks, though.
“Can you send that to me?” I ask.
“Sure.” She laughs. “What’s with you and that house?”
I can’t explain it, but I feel a draw to it. I can tell that underneath the rough exterior, it’s a beauty. It has an undeniable charm. If I had enough money for a down payment, I might consider tracking down the owner to make an offer.
“It’s a nice house,” I say, unwilling to go into detail about the unexplainable connection I feel to it.
“It was a nice house,” she corrects me in the way she sees fit. “It’s beyond the tender loving care stage, Evie. Even the best contractor in the city couldn’t spruce it up.”
I think she’s wrong, but I don’t tell her that.
We both look to the left when a man calls out to us. “Hey there!”
Since he’s sporting a broken right arm, I don’t see the harm in being friendly. My mom would tell me to run in the other direction if a stranger approaches me because he could have a concealed weapon.
The man mere feet from us now has a balding head, dark-rimmed eyeglasses, and is wearing a floral printed button-down shirt that would make my dad seethe with jealousy.
“You wouldn’t happen to be the new owners of the house, would you?”
For some reason, my heart feels like it crashes into my belly in disappointment. It’s not that I would have had a viable path to buy the house within the next five years, but to know that I won’t be the one to bring it back to its glory is disappointing. Although, I’m glad someone will.
“This house?” Lottie jerks a thumb toward it before shifting its direction to the home we just exited. “No way. I bought that house for my fiancé and me.”
He lets out a laugh. It’s joyful. It’s so contagious that Lottie joins in. I do, too.
“That’s what I meant,” he affirms with a sharp nod of his chin. “I’m talking about the Beekers’ house. So you and your fiancé are moving in soon?”
I stare at him, certain that I’ve heard his voice before. It has a slight English accent that’s all kinds of charming.
“Soonish,” she makes the subtle correction. “Do you live on the block? Are we neighbors?”
“No.” He smiles. “I used to live near the corner, but my wife and I moved to Manhattan. We live with our daughter and grandkids now.”
“You’re back to visit a friend?” Lottie asks, determined to find out what this stranger is doing in Queens even though it’s none of her business. “I’m Lottie, by the way. “
“Kevin.” He extends his left hand. “Kevin Dalca.”
I move slightly so I’m closer to him. “Mr. Dalca?”
“No one has called me that in years.” He smiles, dropping Lottie’s hand to reach for mine. “It’s Kevin. What’s your name?”