Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Mayve and… Kenzo, correct? So glad you could both join us.” He waves for us to follow him. Kenzo’s hand stays locked on my hip, and my cheeks burn with even more heat. “It’s so good to have a look into Mayve’s personal life. She keeps everything at the office strictly professional and doesn’t even attend work events. We had a costume party a few weeks back we were hoping you would come to.” He directs the last part to me as we sit at a table by the windows.
I was going to go to that.
Had planned to, but…
“Oh, yes, I could totally see Mayve dressed as Mrs. Incredible.” My back stiffens at Kenzo’s comment, and his hand squeezes my thigh gently.
He just…
I try to piece that night back together. To be honest, I wanted to forget about it altogether.
That night was a deciding moment for me; it was always the best choice to stay home. I tried to get out of this trip but knew I had to come.
Jeff chuckles at Kenzo’s words and asks him what he does for a living.
“Contract work,” Kenzo replies vaguely.
“Oh, interesting. Anything I would be familiar with?” Jeff asks as Vanessa walks over.
“Jeff, I didn’t know we were meeting for lunch.” She takes the seat next to him and inserts herself into our conversation. But right now, I couldn’t care less about her. I’m more concerned with what Kenzo said about that night.
He knew it was me?
How?
When?
Why?
Thinking back, it makes total sense that it was him.
“That’s a nice ring, Mayve. You’ve never worn it before now,” Vanessa says. I glance down at the ring on my finger. “And you wear dresses. Who knew.” She acts surprised when I know she doesn’t give a damn.
“You look great, Mayve. It’s good to see you in some color,” Jeff adds, and Vanessa’s jaw clenches. I smile at him.
“When is your fiancé coming?” I ask her, knowing full well he isn’t. Her tongue darts out and she licks her lips.
Kenzo’s hand is still a warm, heavy weight on my thigh, and I make no sign that I want him to move it.
“He has to work,” she replies.
“My wife has to work too. She wishes she were here. I filled her in last night about your marriage when I called her. She was surprised but told me to wish you all the best,” Jeff says.
We sit there silently as the waiter comes over and tells us about the specials. I don’t order anything, but Kenzo does, and when the waiter leaves, I catch Vanessa watching Kenzo.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I would appreciate your leg to stop touching mine,” Kenzo says to her in a way that leaves no room for argument.
He says it with disgust.
“It was an accident, sorry,” she replies.
“Vanessa, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll meet up with you later,” Jeff says, dismissing her.
Her eyes go wide like she can’t believe he’s excusing her.
“I thought it would—”
“Please leave,” Jeff adds.
She stands, turns to me, and gives me the dirtiest look possible before she sulks off.
The food comes, and Kenzo slides his plate in front of me. I’m confused at first, then realize he ordered for me.
When I turn to look at him, he doesn’t once look back at me.
Twelve
Kenzo
It took me a second to realize she was the same woman from that night, but when her boss mentioned the party, the look on her face confirmed it.
Mrs. Incredible.
“I don’t kill for free, just so you are aware,” I inform her as we leave the lunch meeting. Her arms are hugging her middle as she walks beside me.
“You…”
“Yes, me.”
“Y-you killed that man that night?”
“He was bothering you,” I add.
“I would have been fine,” she mumbles.
“No, you wouldn’t have. You would have ended up in a ditch. You’re lucky I didn’t decide otherwise.” I could have easily killed her just as I breathed, or let her be killed, really, and she should think herself lucky. She stops at my words, smack bang in the middle of the sidewalk. A man bumps into her, and she doesn’t seem to notice or care.
“It’s all a lot for me, that night, this fake marriage,” she whispers. “I want to go home.”
“And I want to fuck. Do you see the issues here?” I throw back.
“You don’t want to fuck me, though,” she says, a hint of something in her voice I can’t figure out. The man who just walked past us stops and winks at her, and again she doesn’t seem to notice. I reach for her hand, and she pulls away at my touch.
Fine then.
“No, I don’t want to fuck you,” I tell her. Then I lean in close and say, “I want to cut you.” I watch as a shiver takes hold of her, and she starts to shake.
“I hate blood.” She cringes just at the thought.