Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74467 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
In the morning, he’s waiting for me in the kitchen with a to-go mug of coffee.
“How did you sleep?” he asks, not smiling, not acting like this is strange at all.
“Good, thank you.” I’m in a pencil skirt and a white blouse, and I like the way his eyes move down my hips. “You really didn’t need to do all this. You can return the clothes I didn’t choose.”
“They’re yours now.”
“It’s too much.”
“Too bad, Pearce. I’ll have my assistant drop them off at your apartment.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Baptist runs your errands.”
“I have multiple assistants.”
I sip my coffee and chew my lip. “You didn’t have to disappear yesterday, you know. I mean, you didn’t need to on my account.”
“I had business.” He turns away. “Don’t worry, Pearce. I wouldn’t run just because you’re around. Now, come on. I like getting in early.”
I follow him down the elevator and out front to a private car. I look around for Heiko, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I’m nervous as the driver takes us through the crowded early morning Philly streets, and Ansell’s focused on his phone, frowning at emails or news or texts, I don’t bother asking what he’s looking at. It’s none of my business and whatever deal we had is officially over. He kept up his end of the bargain and let me stay in the safety of his apartment and he got me to work alive today, which is way more than I had any right to expect.
Now we’re done, and his coldness is back, the burning intensity in his eyes from the day before is completely gone like it was never there, and I wonder if I’ll ever see it again.
“People are going to ask you about William,” he says as the car parks out in front of the building. “There will be uncomfortable questions. If anyone pushes too hard, tell me. I will deal with them.”
“You’ve done too much already,” I say, looking at my lap. At some level, I want this weekend to be over so I’m forced to face reality. I still haven’t turned on my phone, and I know I’m only delaying the inevitable, and probably making it way worse.
But I also don’t want to go back to my life. I want to stay in his apartment, his magical apartment, and feel the strange, impossible depths of my body. I want him to drag me to my limits, kicking and screaming. It terrifies me, but that only heightens the excitement.
He puts his phone in his pocket and stares at me. The Ice King is back and I don’t know what he’s thinking or feeling, or if he can feel anything at all.
“I told you already, Pearce. You’re mine. And I protect what’s mine. Now get out.”
I exit the vehicle and follow him into the building. We’re early and the usual flow of people is lighter than I’ve ever seen it. We ride the elevator in silence, and once it reaches our floor, we step out together. He goes right, along the outer edge of the floor, illuminated by the early morning sunlight slanting in through the windows, and I’m struck at how handsome he is, how large and strange and almost alien. Ansell doesn’t belong in a place like this, trapped in the business world. He looks like he should be on the street, riding a motorcycle, getting into trouble.
Doesn’t matter. Whatever happened this weekend was a fluke. It was momentary insanity. I’ve never, ever done anything like that before. I’ve never gone home with a man I barely know and definitely never slept with a near-total stranger before. Being with Ansell was the highlight of my year, maybe my entire young life, but it’s done now.
Time to move on.
Time to return to my shitty existence.
I hurry away, back toward my cube, sink down into my chair and finally, after a day of ignoring the world, reality comes crashing back.
I have dozens of messages. Tons of emails. At least a hundred missed calls and texts. I scroll through them numbly. Some are violent and threatening from numbers I don’t recognize. Most are from friends that are now former friends. A lot are from my father.
Almost nobody seems concerned about how I’m feeling.
I do reply to one. You holding up okay, Baby?
Bella Baby responds immediately. You’re Alive! I was SO worried!! Where did you go??
I had to disappear for a bit, I type back, not sure if she needs to know any details about Ansell. I decide no—although Baby and I are friends, that doesn’t guarantee she won’t write about it. Are you getting as much hate as I am?
Probably not, she answers, but it’s still not great. You okay, sweets?? You want to meet up??
I’m okay, Baby, thanks. Let me know if I can do anything for you. Sorry this is such a shit show.