Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Yep. Totally insane.
So much could go wrong.
He could find out I’m a janitor at his company and fire my ass.
He could find out I’m poorer than a church mouse, and that won’t look good for his image.
He could find out I have a drug addict leech for a mother. That will definitely have him dumping my ass if we ever make it past the first date.
I’ve thought about canceling but can never bring myself to do it.
When I place the coffee pot back on the counter, my phone begins to ring in my pocket. I dig it out, and seeing Dario’s name, surprise rushes through me.
Walking to Sherrie, I say, “I’m just taking a quick break. Five minutes.”
“Okay.”
I accept the call as I rush through the kitchen and out the back into an alley. “Hi.”
“You answered,” Dario says, sounding surprised.
“Ahh…wasn’t I supposed to?”
He lets out a chuckle that vibrates through my ear, sending a wave of tingles over my body.
“How are you?” he asks.
“Good.” I glance up and down the alley before toeing the little step by the backdoor with the tip of my sneaker. “And you?”
“I’m doing great.”
I hear him breathing, and it makes a weird fluttering erupt in my stomach.
This is crazy. How can a man affect me just by breathing?
“Where are you?” Dario asks.
“At work.”
“Where’s work?”
I push my free hand into the back pocket of my jeans. “Not telling you.”
“Okay. What do you do for a living?”
I let out a chuckle. “Not telling you.”
This time, his voice is deep and dripping with sex when he asks, “What are you willing to tell me?”
My mind races as I search for something to share, and my shoulders slump a little as I say, “I don’t come from a rich family.”
“Okay.”
He sounds puzzled, and it has me explaining, “I heard you have money, and people with money usually move in certain circles. I just want you to know I don’t fit in with that crowd.”
“I don’t fit in with that crowd either,” he says, which draws an incredulous chuckle from me. “You don’t believe me,” he states the obvious.
“It doesn’t matter what I believe.”
“Eden!” I hear Sylvia call from inside.
“I have to go.”
Not waiting for Dario to respond, I end the call and rush back into the kitchen.
When Sylvia sees me, she gives me a look filled with warning. “Get your ass back out there. Sherrie and Destiny can’t handle your section as well as their own.”
“Sorry,” I mutter as I rush past her, and when I see how busy it’s gotten, I feel bad for taking the call.
We stay busy for the next two hours, and by the time I take off my apron, I’m dead on my feet.
Ugh, all I want to do is go to bed, but I have to rush over to Midtown if I don’t want to be late for my night shift at the ballet company.
I grab the meatloaf and vegetables I asked Jaden to prepare when I started my shift, and walking to the door, I say, “See you tomorrow.”
“Don’t come in for the morning shift,” Sylvia says as I pass by the counter where she’s cashing up.
I stop dead in my tracks. “Why?”
“Because I have to give some of the other girls extra shifts. Everyone needs money around the holidays.”
We’re all in the same boat, struggling to survive another day.
Nodding, I leave the diner while my mind does calculation after calculation.
Shit, I need the extra money, or it’s going to be one hell of a cold and long winter with no heat.
Taking the subway to Midtown, I keep worrying about finances, which is nothing new. I’ll just have to find a third job somewhere.
When I get off the subway, I don’t pay attention to my surroundings as I walk to work.
Suddenly, someone grabs my bag, and before I even register the sting across my shoulder, a man sets off with it.
“Hey!” I yell as I run after the asshole. “Give back my bag!”
When I realize he’s faster than me, I stop, yank off my sneaker and throw it at him. The shoe whacks the man against his back, but it doesn’t stop him from disappearing around a corner.
“Fucking asshole!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “I hope you die, you shit-eating pig.”
I’m so angry my body is a trembling mess as I walk to where my sneaker is lying on the sidewalk.
After I pick it up and slip it back onto my foot, I realize people are staring at me, and it has me snapping, “What the hell are you all looking at? The show’s over.”
Pulling my cell phone out of my pocket, I look up the number for my bank and call them so they can put a hold on my account in case the asshole tries to use my card to steal the meager funds I have.