Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Earlier this month, she started a Christmas tree decorating business, and I found out all I could. She doesn’t have a website, but I bought the domain for her so nobody else could have it. I listened while she made plans, and I could hear the passion in her voice. We may have not spoken, but I’ve heard her plenty. She is a hard worker, but this wasn’t her passion, and Star deserves passion. And not just the kind I plan on giving her in my bed.
After contacting all the people she booked for tree decorating, I made sure they were charged extra because she was underselling herself. Then this morning I designed a newsletter and sent it out to every one of my corporate offices in the city. There was a calendar with dates and times available for tree services, and they needed to choose when she was coming.
Star might have no idea what’s ahead of her, but if she wants to decorate Christmas trees for a living, then by god, she’ll decorate every fucking tree in this town. Even if I have to rip them out of the ground and lay them at her feet.
Am I too obsessed with a woman that up until today has never spoken a word to me? It’s a question that doesn’t need answering. Especially when I’m in a car following behind her.
“Drop me off up here,” I say to the driver as he pulls to the curb about a block from where she lives. “I’ll find my own way back.”
He nods, and I tuck my hands into my wool coat and make my way down the street. When I get to the end of the block, there’s a bench nearby that I take a seat on. The amount of time I’ve spent out here watching her is something I’m not ready to think about.
A few moments later, her car pulls up, and I watch as the driver helps her out. She smiles at him again, and I narrow my eyes. She’s always so cheerful with everyone but me, and that’s going to change.
She takes her bag that’s spilling over with garland and glitter that I can see even from this distance, but when she goes into her apartment, I feel sad because I can’t watch her anymore. Normally it’s late at night when I come here, and she leaves the lamp on as she sits by the window and reads. I like to watch her for hours as she sips on something. Sometimes I wonder if it’s tea or cocoa, because I want to send her the best in the city. Hell, the best in the world. That’s what I want to give her.
I sit there a little longer, bouncing my knee because I feel anxious. I won’t be able to know when she goes to bed, and I won’t be able to come by in the morning to watch as she walks to work. This plan of firing her has me questioning if I did the right thing, and I’m on my feet before I know it.
“What the fuck am I doing?” I whisper to myself as I cross the street and go to her building.
The buzzer on the door is new, and that’s because I called her superintendent to get it replaced when I noticed it was broken and anyone could walk in. I even paid him to do it. Luckily, someone is coming out of her building just as I approach, and I slide inside.
She’s on the top floor, but there’s no elevator so I have to climb four flights of stairs before I’m outside her door. I have no plan of how this is going to go or what I’m going to say, but I just know that I have to tell her it’s going to be okay. Even if it won’t make sense.
When I get to her door, I hesitate, unsure of what to do. I decide to press my ear to it and listen. Maybe she’s cooking, or god forbid, in the shower. The image of suds running down her rich curves fills my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight. I can’t have my dick sticking out right here in the middle of an empty hallway.
It’s then I hear something on the other side of the door, and it sounds like she’s crying. “Shit.” My heart sinks, and I raise my hand to knock. Just then I hear her say something.
“He’s an asshole,” I hear her say, and I don’t know if it’s to someone on the phone or if there’s someone in her apartment. Leaning closer, I try to hear every detail. “You’re right. You always know how to make me feel better.”
She doesn’t have any family or a roommate, so who the hell is she talking to?