Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
I motion to let me speak to Cynthia once I can see it’s her calling.
Mark tactfully decides not to tell her what’s just happened with Brandon Silver before passing the phone over.
Weird for a guy to be paying for his own wedding.
I explain the situation with the other client’s dress dilemma. “We need dry cleaning for four garments and a gown, plus any repairs or alterations which I can have done by tomorrow,” I assure her.
“They just need picking up, not too far from where...”
Cynthia makes an involuntary groaning sound.
“You okay?” I ask, noting it’s not just a work groan. She sounds off.
Unwell.
“I’ll be okay, kiddo,” she lies and I hear her sniff and then cough before she speaks again.
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask, concerned.
“I’m fine,” she says but I’m not convinced, sensing something’s wrong. “It’s nothing. Probably just a sniffle I’ve picked up. I was fine this morning…”
Glancing over at Mark I can see his pale features contorting as he stifles a sneeze and then a cough.
Now that I think of it, both Cynthia and Mark have been pretty run down lately.
“Text me the address, Ash. I’ll see you in about an hour with those garments, tell Mark I’ll see him at home if he doesn’t stick around at the store.”
I hear her stifle a cough and groan again before she hangs up. Mark looks even paler now.
One person sick is bad with a full week of weddings ahead during peak season.
But both of them?
No. It can’t happen. They’ll both be fine.
I have to tell myself that because otherwise…
Otherwise, I might be too busy to even think about Brandon Silver again, let alone spend any more time with him. I almost sighing at the most recent memory of one Brandon Silver. Hoping like hell I haven’t put him off altogether.
I relay Cynthia’s message to Mark, who swallows painfully and whispers that he might like to go home after all if I wouldn’t mind finishing up with Brandon’s pants?
I nod eagerly, advising Mark to go home and get an early night.
Both of us somehow know that it’ll take more than just an early night to get over whatever he and his wife have picked up.
And me?
I feel fine. Sliding my hands into the front of the pants Mark made a decent start on adjusting is about as close as I’ll ever be to getting in Brandon Silver’s pants.
At least that's what it feels like anyway.
Chapter Six
Brandon
What the fuck just happened?
I ask myself this a thousand times walking back to my truck.
No suit and worse than anything, no Ashlee.
Is she playing hard to get or maybe just realized she could never have a thing for an older guy?
It doesn’t make sense. One minute she’s putting out all the signals, responding to what I’m broadcasting, and the next? She’s an ice queen.
God, I miss her already.
I’m in deep. I can feel it.
Never been in deep with anyone, but there’s no denying this feeling.
Anybody else icing me out after the chemistry that exploded between us I’d never look back as I walked away.
But with Ashlee it’s different.
This is wrong. I’m moving in the wrong direction.
I’m not supposed to be going home, I’m supposed to be with her. Taking her home with me dammit.
I don’t like it. Something’s not right.
My truck’s down an alley, which I turn down, hearing the tailor Mark calling out after me once I clear the corner.
I don’t look back.
I’m not going back for him. The suit can wait too.
It's Ashlee I want, and I’m not going home until I can at least speak to her again. To explain myself better instead of just staring at her like an idiot.
God, what a moron! All I had to do was say I’m the best man not the fucking groom and things could have gone totally different.
Slamming the door as I settle myself back in my truck I growl at myself for being so stupid, for handling everything so badly.
It's a few minutes before I calm down enough to even think clearly.
Man, what this girl is doing to me.
The nearest thing to her I can put my hand to right this minute is her card, which I fish out of my pocket.
My thumb tracing the raised letters of her name on the thick, glossy paper.
No phone number, just a website, and social media handles.
My phone’s out in a flash and in seconds I’m feeling some relief.
I have her website in my hand, and there’s an image of her, smiling and wearing one of her creations.
I let out a low groan of pleasure, instantly feeling myself harden as I remember the sensation of her skin against my hands.
The same hands I notice tremble a little now, with excitement and impatience as I wait for her photo galleries to load.
My pleasure reaches a new height, and I actually feel a little dizzy. My heart’s pounding in my ears and my mouth goes dry again.