Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 143(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
“About anything in particular?”
I make a rueful face
“Just, you know, the lying about my identity and doing something potentially morally heinous.”
“Oh yeah.” Rachel nods. “That’ll do it. I don’t think you’re really morally wrong, though. It all started off with a small omission, sure, but I think that what you two have is pretty special now. Don’t you agree?”
I gnaw on my bottom lip. “It feels like more than just a roll in the hay, that’s for sure. But Tate’s not the lovey-dovey type, and I don’t know if he has feelings for me. I mean, I can’t really expect that, can I? Most people don’t fall in love with ragtag homeless waifs.”
“I don’t know,” Rachel says, unconvinced. “You talk about Tate really highly. And I don’t know if he’d let you stay with him for three whole months now if he weren’t into you on some level at least. And I don’t just mean sexually.”
I think for a moment.
“Maybe,” I sigh. “I don’t know. I’ll just keep taking it a day at a time.”
“That’s probably the best plan,” Rachel agrees. “Well, let me know when you’re ready for Toodles. It’ll be hard for me to give him up, though. Oh wait, or are you going to come home?”
I laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know. It’s just one day at a time around here but honestly, I appreciate you, Rach. I really do.”
She smiles into the phone camera.
“You’re welcome!” she grins. But then she cocks her head at me curiously. “You are going to tell Tate about your identity eventually though, right? He can’t be your sexy sugar daddy forever.”
I sigh. “Yes, I will, but just not yet. I’ve been feeling really good about things, and I don’t want to screw things up. Did I tell you I’m sketching some designs for his company, by the way? I’m working on a new Minerva logo right now.”
Rach looks surprised.
“So things are more serious than you let on.”
I giggle.
“Maybe. I don’t know. We really do get each other, but I don’t know if that means it’s a romance.”
My friend just grins.
“A day at a time, remember?”
I nod. “You’re right.”
Suddenly, there’s a crash and Rach jumps. “Oops,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “Gotta go. Toodles is in the monstera. Toodles!” And with that, the call’s over.
I sigh and flop back on the four-poster bed. A million questions swirl in the maelstrom of my mind. What am I supposed to do? When is the right time to come clean? Will there ever be a right time to tell Tate?
On the one hand, the small omission about my true identity shouldn’t be that big of a deal. It wouldn’t change things too much, would it? But my stomach churns, and I shake my head. For all I know it could change everything because I’d go from being homeless, needy Laurie to richer-than-thou society debutante Laurelin Saint. Oh god, what do I do?
Feeling anxious, I get up and head downstairs to grab some lunch. Tate’s personal chef prepared an amazing meal of pork chops and Brussel sprouts last night, and I decide to have some leftovers. I bring out the food, plate it, and stick it in the microwave. As I do, my eye is caught by a half-finished bottle of wine on the table. I glance at my phone, and see that it’s only two. Well, I tell myself as I uncork the bottle and pour myself a glass, it’s five o’clock somewhere.
I sit down at the table and am about to start eating when keys jangle in the door. Bemused, I look at my phone clock again to make sure I had the right time. Tate almost never comes home earlier than five or six, and I frown as I get up to greet him. Is he feeling sick?
Sure enough, it’s the handsome man, and my heart melts as he strides in. He’s gorgeous in a dark coat that sets off his blue eyes, and his shoulders are as broad as ever.
“Hey,” I say as Tate comes inside. He grins, and without even taking off his jacket, sweeps me into his arms and kisses me. My eyes flutter closed and I relax into his embrace, letting myself be entirely possessed by his touch.
After a long moment, he pulls just far enough away to aim that all-too-familiar smirk at me. “Miss me much?” he says.
I swat him on the arm. “Don’t get too cocky,” I giggle. Then, I turn away so that he doesn’t see the color rise to my cheeks, or feel my heart suddenly thumping away in my chest. My conversation with Rachel echoes in my head. Could this actually be turning into something more than a “mutually beneficial” relationship?
Tate laughs as he sees my glass of wine on the table. “Is this what you’re doing when I’m not home all day? A bit of day drinking?”