Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 48032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
In the middle of the encore, I shut my eyes and picture him pulling me onto the dance floor, twirling me around for every guest—especially Nate—to see.
My eyes flutter open when the director abruptly exchanges the song for the waltz, and I realize that Mister R’s gaze on me hasn’t wavered in the slightest.
“I, uh…” I clear my throat. “I think I need to go now.”
“I think so, too.” He gives me one last lethal glance before picking up my sunglasses and walking over to the door. He holds it open, silently commanding me to leave.
I follow his order and make my way down the hall and to the elevator bank that’s for the invited guests.
Stepping into the car, I punch the button for the bottom level, but nothing happens.
The doors don’t close. The buttons don’t light.
I hit the bottom level button again.
Nothing.
Desperate to escape his deep blue gaze, to prevent myself from falling into another forbidden fantasy, I hit all the buttons, but the results are the same.
Mister R watches me in amusement, a faint smile on his lips.
“Is this one broken?” I ask. “Should I move to another?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he steps forward and gently grabs the collar of my borrowed chef’s coat. Slowly pushing the jacket off my shoulders, he watches my reaction until it’s completely in his possession.
The chef’s beret catches his eye next, and he takes his time pulling it off me, too.
Then he pulls a keycard from his pocket and swipes it against the outer panel.
All the interior buttons flash bright green.
“This better be our last ‘coincidence,’” he says, smirking as the doors close. “Or else I’ll have to handle the next one myself.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s more like a guarantee.” He pauses. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Autumn…”
End of Episode 4
Episode 5
Autumn
After the party
Waves of blue and white lights are flashing in my rearview mirror, casting an aura against the darkness. They’re a stark contrast to the series of stoplights I’ve sped through while wishing my time with Mister R never came to an end.
“This better be our last coincidence…”
I’ve mentally rewound and replayed every second of the night, stopping and pausing at the moments when he looked deeply into my eyes to speak, when he uttered my name.
How did he even know it?
I’ve never felt this drawn to a man at first or second sight before, never felt utterly compelled to follow him wherever he wanted to lead, but I’ve read enough love stories to know that this is a dangerous plot. The twists and turns are potentially infinite, and the hero is already too much of an enigma.
With Nate, the initial allure of ‘us’ was in our rebellion. With Mister R, the allure isn’t worthy of a metaphor. It’s an indisputable fact.
“Miss?” A police officer—a familiar police officer—suddenly taps on my window. “Miss?”
I roll it down. “Yes?”
“Here’s your ticket, again.” He hands me a folded sheet before returning my license. “The speed limit on this lane is forty miles an hour, and those huge red stop signs are not suggestions. Are we clear?”
“Yes.” I nod. “Thank you.”
“If I pull you over for a third time within the next hour, I’m taking you straight to jail.”
I blink. “It won’t happen again.”
“It better not, so if you don’t mind—” He gestures for me to move. “Drive safe and get the hell home.”
I force a smile and pull onto the road, driving five miles under the speed limit.
At this pace, my thoughts can’t be reckless, and they can’t explore an alternate life with Mister R. They can only focus on Nate.
Nate and his lies.
Nate and his cheating.
Nate and all the “love” of mine he’s wasted.
With every mile I drive, the uglier my thoughts become, and the more I want to strangle him in his sleep.
When I finally make it to our house, his car isn’t in the garage.
Slipping into the kitchen, I pull a bottle of vodka from the cabinet. I drink straight from its rim, gulp by gulp.
As the liquor burns its way down my throat, I glance at the clock above the oven.
It’s an hour before midnight, and Nate will be home from the ball at any moment.
That’s more than enough time for me to be strategic.
I may not have heeded my mother’s initial marriage warning, but I’ve scoured my brain for every bit of advice she’s ever given me about relationships and followed the rest of them to the letter.
“Always have an escape plan, Autumn. No matter what.”
I carry the vodka with me into the guest bedroom.
Pushing the closet doors open, I pull out two small duffle bags I packed months ago. Inside, there are enough clothes for a week, a couple of prepaid credit cards, and a second cell phone.
I double-check to ensure the emergency cash is stuffed into the bottom compartment and lock them inside my car trunk.