Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Richard: He’s in. Send me the details.
I smile and put my phone down. It looks like Mr. Wilson and I will meet again.
Chapter 8
Wilson
I park the Land Rover and grasp the handle of the door to get out. My body screams at me as I stand and stretch, arching my back. Reaching back in, I grab the keys, my phone, and my suit jacket.
I’m about to text Richard when a door opens, and a woman comes out with a headset on and a clipboard in her hand. "Mr. Wilson." She smiles at me, and I look over at her. "I’m Catherine." She holds out her hand for me, and I shake it. "I’m here to welcome you and take you over to the makeup chair."
"Great," I huff and then pull up Richard’s text chain.
Me: I’m here, and you’re not. Do you see something wrong with this?
I walk into the studio, and the only light comes from the fixtures in the ceiling. It looks like it was a commercial lot transformed into a studio. Walking past makeshift rooms, I see tables and chairs but no ceiling. The people walking around are all wearing black with headsets on. I bet they aren’t happy to be here on a Sunday either.
Turning down a hallway, Catherine stops at a door and leads me into what is the makeup room. Four chairs are pushed up to a long counter in front of a mirror with black makeup containers scattered on it. Makeup brushes are lined up in front of one of the chairs. "This is Aimee, and she will be taking care of you," Catherine says. "Do you need anything? Water, coffee?"
"I’m fine," I reply curtly as the phone vibrates in my hand. Ignoring Catherine, I look down at it.
Richard: Parking.
My annoyance goes even higher when I read his text. Not only am I here on a Sunday, my day off, but we also got our asses handed to us by Washington last night. It was not a good game for anyone. Every check was harder and harder, and every single battle for the puck seemed to be lost. "Where do you want me?" I look at the makeup girl, and she pulls out the first chair.
Sitting in the chair, I look at her. "I don’t want anything that will cake on my skin," I tell her. "Like none of that foundation crap."
She laughs. "Lucky for you, all I have to correct are the circles under your eyes." I let her do her thing, and then I hear a knock on the door and turn to look at Richard coming in.
"Hey," he says with a smile and a cup of coffee in his hand. "There you are."
"Where else would I be? I was told to be here at eleven, and I was here at eleven. You know who wasn’t here at that time?" I ask. Aimee looks over at him, and her eyes go big. "You."
"Excuse me," Aimee says, taking the chance to escape the room.
"I got here five minutes ago. I was chatting with the producer and the host of the show," he tells me, sitting down in the chair next to me.
"Did you tell them that my family life is off-limits?" I look over at him, and he nods.
"Made it crystal clear," he says. "They assured me there would be no questions asked."
"Good," I say, nodding my head. "How long do they think it’s going to take?"
"I can go and ask that we speed it up," he says, getting up, and he stops when we both hear the clicking of heels coming closer.
I look over at the door, and my mouth drops open when I see her walk into the room. "Gentlemen." She smiles and her voice is smooth. I look her up and down. The last time she was wearing sneakers and a leather jacket, but now she’s all business. Her pants are a blush pink and are tight on the hips but then are loose all the way to the bottom, hiding her high heels that we just heard clicking down the hallway. Her white sleeveless top is tucked in and tight, going high to her neck, but it molds to her tits. Her long hair is tied on top of her head in a bun, and my hand moves when I think about how it felt between my hands. My heart speeds up when looking at her, but I can’t even try to contain what is happening inside me. My stomach is flipping over that she is here. I’ve thought of her every fucking day since the bar, but I told myself to forget it. But with her standing in front of me, this is the universe giving me a sign. Either that or the universe is fucking with me and showing me yet again what I can’t have.