Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
I’ve noticed it before, but in my grief fog I haven’t stopped to admire it until now.
It’s the spitting image of the rose garden in its prime in front of the cottage, all vibrant reds and greens and purples before it blurs into wildflowers cheerfully crowding a familiar old stone wall.
“Wow,” I whisper.
She must’ve had it commissioned. But Gram was always so pragmatic with her money, I wonder why she bothered when the house needs so much work.
Another text from Pippa comes through. So when are you coming back to civilization? I miss you.
Jenn: The goal was never, but at this rate, it might be soon-ish.
Pippa: What’s wrong?
I finish my wine and set the glass on the coffee table so I can type a reply.
The house needs major work. When everything is said and done, the renovations will probably run into six figures. You know, more than I have.
I wince. These are the times when I wish I had a hot billionaire husband like her.
Pippa: Just sell and come home! You can work with me again.
She sends a grinning emoji.
Jenn: You only love it because your boy toy is there.
Pippa: Still. Your apartment didn’t stress you like this.
Jenn: No, but it didn’t come with a letter from Gram giving me her most precious thing in the world.
I frown.
This whole conversation reminds me why I need to consider Dracula’s offer. I hate giving in, but I’m in no position to return this place to its original glory without a leg up.
I open his contact, where I’d started typing a reply before Ace showed up. Maybe that was a sign from the universe that I shouldn’t burn any bridges.
My phone buzzes again.
Pippa: You know, if you’re hard up and hell-bent on staying, we’d be happy to front you a small loan. Zero interest. Brock wouldn’t even bat an eye.
Jenn: Thanks, but no.
I swallow thickly.
If I were a better person, I might just take her up on that offer, knowing $100K is pocket change for the Winthropes.
But maybe Gram was right and we’re more alike than I thought. We’re both too damn proud to take anyone else’s money.
Let’s find you a rich boy then. It would brighten your mood. Pippa’s latest text flashes across the top of my screen.
I immediately reply.
Nah, no time for drama. I really don’t want to sell this place, Pippa. It’s bad enough I’m dealing with the vampire man next door. He’s rude, pushy, and spoiled rotten.
It should be against the law for a jerk like that to be so flipping hot, I add, huffing with annoyance as I swipe away another annoying notification from some app.
I regret that last sentence.
Now, I’ll never live it down.
It’s a few minutes before she responds, which is fine because I’m staring at the empty text window, wondering if I can find the words to be polite to Cromwell.
Pippa: Vampire man? Are you five?
I laugh.
I expected her to ask why I hate him so much, but I guess she’s right.
I should come up with a better nickname for a raging jackass.
Then my phone pings again. I brace for another round of teasing from my bestie.
Nice to know I’m 'flipping hot.' Is that why you’ve been giving me the silent treatment? You’re cute too, and I typically prefer blondes.
Huh? Why would Pippa say—
Oh.
Oh, crap on a flapjack.
I just butt-texted Miles Cromwell. And my fingers were a hundred times clumsier than my butt.
The phone rings then, and his name flashes across my screen.
My heart leaps into my throat and for reasons unknown to me, I swipe to answer.
“That wasn’t meant for you,” I rush out.
“Hello to you too, Miss Landers,” he growls back. “Relax. As much as I’d enjoy seeing you hot and flustered with your lying little tongue tied, I’d rather talk business.”
Prick.
I don’t know what else to say to that.
“It’s not like you deserve an apology. I was just stating the obvious, everyone knows you’re hot—and absolutely terrible.”
“Am I?”
Oh, nonono.
I’m glad this is a phone call. He can’t see my face throbbing red with anger or shame or something I don’t want to acknowledge.
“You know exactly what you are, Cromwell. I’m sure you also know you’re as graceful as a Neanderthal.”
“I pride myself on it,” he says smoothly.
“See? Nothing to apologize for then.”
“Of course not. It’s a compliment when a beautiful woman is so enamored with me that she has to text a friend about me on a Friday night. That’s not why I called, though,” he adds.
“I know. Goodbye,” I say.
“Miss Landers, wait! Your little slip made it seem like you’re interested in selling.”
“Not to you, Dracula. Never.”
“Stop with the flattery. Dracula was polished and devastating. I ate up every bit of Stoker’s book when I was ten years old,” he explains.
That figures. I roll my eyes. So besides being so radioactive he glows, he’s also well read.