Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
And for some reason, I’m terrified.
I take a shower to calm my nerves. I get out and spend the next half hour second-guessing my outfit choice, parading one work-appropriate blouse around toward different work-appropriate slacks and skirts, trying to get just the right shoes. After a solid hour, I’m too tired to keep messing around and end up on a simple navy-and-gray ensemble. I’ll get a feel for what the rest of the office wears and match a little bit better next time, but this should be fine for now.
I make coffee, pour some cereal in a bowl, and eat near the windows. I keep glancing at my phone, hoping I’ll hear from Gareth, but there’s nothing. He disappeared to Chicago after our last little conversation—or fight or whatever it was—and I haven’t heard from him since. I’d be worried if he was my real husband.
But he’s not. There’s nothing real about us.
Although we were so close. When he walked into the kitchen and saw me standing there looking like a hot mess after a workout, his face lit up like a lamp. He glowed, smiling, staring at me like he was so happy to see me, like a puppy coming home to its favorite person.
That look was everything.
I’ve never been looked at like that before. I’ve never been the object of someone’s desire—no, someone’s joy. He looked at me with pure excitement in his eyes, and it was intoxicating.
I flirted. I teased. I let things go too far. Until I realized kissing him would only leave me brokenhearted and wouldn’t change a thing.
I hate that I let it get to that point. I hate that we fought. I want him back here, with me, in this apartment, laughing and teasing again.
I want him so bad it kills.
But he’s not coming. No calls, no texts. He knows it’s my first day—and still no word.
Fuck him. Fuck everyone. I march into the kitchen, refill my coffee, and chug it down. My phone vibrates—and it’s a message from Cait. Good luck! You’ll do great, love you! Even my exhausted mom-friend managed to drag her butt out of bed at the crack of dawn to send me a nice message.
I shouldn’t be cranky like this. Gareth owes me nothing. We’re not together and we never will be. Sure, we’ll fake long distance for a while, but there’s a divorce coming. Once that’s finalized, we’re finished.
I got paid already. My debt’s gone. What more do I need?
There’s a noise down the hall. I freeze, surprised, but it’s the door opening. “Fiona?” Gareth’s voice echoes toward me.
Excitement cuts into my stomach. God, what’s wrong with me? Why am I excited to see him right now?
He appears in the kitchen wearing a dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, and slacks, a shopping bag from Chanel in one hand. “There you are. Shit, I thought I almost missed you, but the fucking store wouldn’t open and I yelled at this pathetic little shop girl so much she nearly cried, which made me feel bad so I tipped her a huge stack of money, which also upset her since she’s not technically allowed to take it but—” He takes a deep breath, staring at me, and slowly lets it out. “Damn. You look good.”
“Shop? You went to Chanel at—six in the morning?”
“I had to call in a favor.” He thrusts the bag at me. “I got you these. For your first day.”
“You got me a present?” Heart racing, I put the bag on the counter and take out a shoebox.
Inside is a pair of the classic beige-and-black heels. Simple and timeless. I stare at him, eyes going wide. “Gareth,” I whisper.
“I didn’t know what you were wearing today so I went with something classic. Do you like them?”
“I love them.” I blink at him, surprised that they’re in my size. “Why did you do this?”
“It’s your first day,” he says, leaning against the refrigerator, catching his breath. He looks like he ran up here from the street. “Put them on.”
I hesitate, but kick off my heels and slide the Chanel pair on my feet. They fit perfectly—a bit stiff, since they’re new, but still. Perfect. “They work,” I say, laughing. “How do I look?”
“Incredible,” he says softly. “God, Fiona. You always look incredible.”
I blush slightly. “Easy there. Talk like that is what started our last fight.”
“I know,” he says, still staring at me. “Listen, Fiona—” He hesitates, mouth hanging open.
I speak before he can. “It’s okay,” I say, holding up my hands. “I get it. This is just a friendly gift from one fake spouse to another. I have no expectations. But listen, this is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me. I’ve got to admit, I was really, really nervous, but these help.”
His face relaxes. “You have no reason to worry. You’re going to do great.”