Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Mind racing.
Tossing.
Turning.
Repeat.
Midnight.
I grab my phone.
I'm gonna call Asher.
Without thinking twice I press his name.
I'm just going to explain that I only left so quickly because I was in shock.
A pit forms in my stomach when it goes straight to voicemail. It doesn't even ring. It's almost as if he blocked my number or something.
I hang up without leaving a message.
Annoyed, I throw the phone and watch it bounce off the pillow.
As it leaps into the air it starts to ring.
Shit!
I scramble for it, my eyes bulging when I see that it’s my Nice Guy.
“Hey, I just tried calling you!” I quickly answer.
“Yeah, weird same here but it went straight to voicemail.” Oh god. Asher’s sounds like the only song I’ve been longing to hear.
I'm in deep trouble.
"Great minds, right?" he swallows hard. Does he sound nervous? "What are the odds we both called eachother at the same time?"
I remain silent.
Shit. I should say something. I did not prepare myself for how good his voice would sound.
“Elle?” he whispers.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I close my eyes.
“Tell me I’m being stupid,” he chuckles, and I didn’t think it was possible for my heart to beat any faster.
“Uh... why?” I croak.
“I’m about to get on a plane. To New York.”
Okay, my heart is definitely about to leap out of my chest!
“Wait, really?” I sit up as my voice hitches. I sound the opposite of calm and collected. In fact I'm failing miserably at composure.
“Yeah,” he sighs, clearing his throat. Crap. I imagine how he must be running his fingers through his hair with that crooked smirk on his face. “To be up front,” he pauses, his breath crackling into the phone. “I’m only coming to see you. Brad says I’m bonkers to just show up without calling,” he swallows. “I just... I think we should talk. In person.”
Whoa.
Everything screeches to a halt, my girl genes in overdrive. As a female it’s embedded in me that when I hear those words I need to flip the hell out.
Which is exactly what I'm doing.
“Elle?” he whispers. “If you don’t-”
“No! Of course I want to see you!” His sigh of relief once again crackles into the phone. “I’m actually staying at a hotel in midtown.”
“What? Why are you at a hotel?” He sounds frantic. “Did something happen?”
“It’s a long story,” I brush off. “You can come here when you get in... or I can meet you tomorrow after work?”
God did I just invite him to my hotel room?
I smack my head.
He lets out a low laugh.
“It's probably easier if you come to me. Tomorrow is good. I’ll be staying at the Ritz across from Central Park,” he hesitates. “Are you sure everything is okay?”
“Right,” I swallow. “And yeah. Everything is fine.”
It's not. Not at all.
"Great... and Elle, don't be nervous."
I don't know how he does it, but his words somehow both relax me and yet bring me closer to the edge.
"Me nervous? I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous?"
He chuckles. "Night, New York. I'll see you tomorrow."
Oh my god.
"Night, Asher."
12
History In Dark Corners
I tell myself not to freak out.
It's useless.
I replay every possible way this evening could go in my head until I'm confused on how I want it to go. Or how far, really.
One thing is for sure - I need to play it cool. Problem is I'm not sure I've ever done that before.
During lunch I buy a new outfit. Not to impress Asher or anything, but because I'm still in the same clothes as yesterday.
It's not for Asher.
The dress I get says otherwise.
I've never been a dress person before either. This is not the pool cover-up I'm used to.
Here's to trying something new, like dating a celebrity maybe?
My dream guy.
Jesus, I'm hopeless.
The day moves slower than slow.
I’m passing some art store around the corner from the Ritz when I notice an impressive crowd out front.
Part of me is jealous of today's fan. With the Internet and social media being what it is it's so easy for people to find whoever they're looking for. And yet they're lining the hotel's front entrance like he actually uses it. If I had their resources I would do better, and as an ex-stalker myself I want to shake them. When has he ever used the front entrance? For a second I think about saying something - more as a courtesy than anything else, but don't. I catch my reflection in a store window and second guess literally everything.
What the hell am I doing?
Trying too hard, that's what.
Then my phone buzzes with a text from Asher.
I should meet Tiny at some flower shop down the street from the hotel.
I glance at the address and make the next left, spotting a bunch of men with cameras.
Paparazzi.
They ignore me.
Of course they do.
Tiny leads me though a back door to a service elevator before discreetly getting me up to Asher’s floor.