Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 35875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35875 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
"You fucked in my pool, you asshole?" I peer through the blinds again, scowling down at the covered pool. Goddammit. Now, I have to drain it, tear it out, and start all over. And I actually liked that pool. It's heated.
"Who did? Wasn't me."
I smile despite myself. "You are such an asshole. What does the note say?"
"That she expects you at dinner tomorrow."
"I have a thing."
"Bullshit. Making some asshole a bunch of money is not a thing, Jack. Dinner with your brother and sister-in-law is a thing. Making some asshole money is a job."
"You have absolutely no faith in me."
"Uh, clearly not. I know you. You work and annoy me and your employees. Or you go to the coffee shop and annoy Aspen and Noah. Or you annoy someone else in town and call that socializing. That's the extent of your life nine days out of ten. You're coming to dinner before you make my wife sad with your miserable existence."
"My existence is just fine." My gaze shifts from the pool to the pool house in time to see…something. A flicker of shadow passing in front of the tiny door lite. A human sized shadow. A human woman sized shadow.
Goddammit. I hate when Drake is right.
Oh, he's definitely wrong about the state of my existence. It's not miserable. It's…comfortable. I do what the fuck I want to do when the fuck I want to do it. I socialize when it's convenient. But I just so happen to want to work. Where is the problem here?
He's right about the pool house, though. Someone is out there.
"You're full of shit and you know it," he says. "You only work so goddamn much because you don't know how to relax. Your mind doesn't work that way."
"Fine. I'll come to dinner." It's not like I have a moral objection to dinner anyway. I just like fucking with him. Until Madeline burst into his life, I was pretty much the only person on the planet he talked to regularly. He was bullied pretty ruthlessly when we were teenagers. He dealt by shutting out the world. "I gotta go. I just spotted my ghost."
"Jesus Christ, Jack. Call the sheriff."
"Yep. I'm all over it. Peace out, fucker." I hang on up on him before shoving my phone into my pocket. I probably should call Dillon and get his ass out here to deal with whoever the fuck is squatting in my pool house. That'd be the smart thing to do. But am I going to do the smart thing? Uh, fuck no.
Drake was right, I hate boredom. And I'm currently bored. I'm also currently here. Might as well risk my life and hope whoever is out there just needs a place to stay for a totally normal reason and they aren't a mass murderer or a thief trying to rob me blind.
I pause halfway down the stairs and pull out my phone.
Me: Out of curiosity, are there any unsolved murders—mass or otherwise—in the vicinity?
Dillon: I certainly hope not. It's my weekend off. Why?
Me: Just checking.
Dillon: Again…why?
Me: My pool house is probably haunted.
I chuckle when Dillon starts typing, stops, starts again and then stops. Not even two seconds later, my phone rings.
"What do you mean, your pool house is probably haunted?" he asks.
"There's someone in it. Probably a ghost," I mutter, jogging down the stairs again. "I'm going to check it out."
"Jesus Christ, Jack. Stay your ass in the house and let me send a car out there to handle it," Dillon mutters. "If you get shot, half the damn town is going to riot."
"They do like making money," I agree, grinning. I learned early on that my mind was made for numbers. I may not know what day of the week it is most of the time, and I may drive everyone insane with half the shit I do the rest of the time, but numbers? Those are easy. I've helped make a lot of people in this town very rich.
And that's just what I do for fun. Drake and I own multiple companies, everything from technology to oil to coffee shops. Boredom is fucking…boring.
"Yeah, they do. Keep your ass in the house," Dillon growls.
"Nah, it's all good. If she's a ghost, your guys don't have the right equipment. And if she's not, I don't want them hauling her out of here before I find out why she's hiding out in my pool house," I mutter. "I've got it under control."
"Shit. It's a woman?"
"From the looks of it. I'll figure out what the situation is and call you if I need backup."
"I don't like this."
"Yeah, well. I'm not unlocking the gate for whoever you send, so tough shit. I'll call if I need you."
"Call anyway," he growls. "My wife will be pissed if you're murdered on my watch. She likes you."