Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Killian, what’s going on?” Olivia asks. Reed screeches to be let out of his high chair, and Nick picks him up.
“Giselle…” Fuck, now that I’m standing here, I feel like such an asshole for telling Nick Giselle’s business. I just didn’t know what else to do. The woman is beyond stubborn. I thought if I told Nick and he told Olivia, she could talk to Giselle. I clearly didn’t think this through.
“Killian, tell me!” Olivia demands. “My best friend just ran out the door crying. Is she sick? What’s going on?”
Remembering Giselle left, I say, “I’ll let Nick tell you. I need to go find Giselle.”
I run out the door and take the elevator down. I have no clue where Giselle even went, but I can’t just sit here and do nothing. When I exit the front entrance, I hear her voice. She’s sitting on a bench against the building and talking on the phone.
“I understand I need the money, but I have the right to pick who my clients are.” She must be talking to her boss, and my guess is that it isn’t the one at the design firm.
“Bianca, you don’t understand…” She pauses to listen to whatever she’s saying. “Okay, I understand. Goodbye.” She presses end on the phone call, shoves her phone into her back pocket, and lets her head hit the back of the wall with a loud sigh. I want to be mad at her stubbornness, but if I’m honest, it’s a damn turn on. Any other woman would’ve gladly taken my money. Not Giselle, though. She has a ton of baggage sitting on her shoulders and she’s hell-bent on holding it all up herself.
I sit on the bench next to her, and she glances over at me. She doesn’t even look mad anymore. She looks defeated. “So, does my best friend know I’m a whore?” Her voice is too calm, too even. She’s definitely reached her breaking point.
“You’re not a whore. You took a job to support your family, to pay for your baby sister’s school.”
“Maybe so, but it doesn’t change the fact that I spread my legs for money.” She looks down at her gloved hands, wringing them nervously. “Did you tell my mom when you spoke to her?” she whispers.
“No.” I wouldn’t do that to her. I want to help her, not humiliate her. Plus it would only hurt her mom to know what her daughter has resorted to, in order to pick up the slack in her absence. I only told Nick in hopes that Olivia would convince her to stop. I know Olivia wouldn’t judge her. She doesn’t have a judgmental bone in her body. Hell, she’s even become good friends with Nick’s ex-fiancée for God’s sake.
She nods once. “It’s not your job to take care of me and my family. That’s my job, and I don’t need or want your money, so you can stop wasting your money in an attempt to take care of me.”
I thought it was obvious I didn’t just hire her to take care of her, but I’m not going to assume anything. My assumptions are what caused me to take months to get to know the real Giselle.
“I didn’t hire you to take care of you. I hired you because I enjoy spending time with you.”
Her chest rises and falls with a soft laugh.
“I like you, Giselle, and I want to get to know you more. But I can’t do that if you’re being forced to be with other guys. You won’t quit, so I fixed the problem.”
“Apparently fixing problems is your thing,” she says dryly. I’m about to tell her it’s just money, but I stop myself. To someone like me, who earns millions of dollars a year, it’s just money, but to someone in Giselle’s position, there’s nothing just about it. It’s been ten years since I was picked up by the NFL, and it’s easy to forget where I came from.
Giselle wraps her coat around herself and shivers. It’s February in New York, and today, while it’s a bit warmer, it’s still in the high thirties. “So, what are we doing tonight?” she asks. “Whatever it is, can it be indoors?” She lifts the hood of her jacket up as small flecks of snow fall down around us, and I smile at how adorable she looks. Her cheeks and button nose are a beautiful shade of pink. She looks like one of those porcelain dolls my mom has from her childhood.
“You tell me.” I stand. “What would you like to do?”
“You’re the one paying.” She shrugs. “It’s your date.” She stands. “And to be honest, in all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve never really taken the time to experience New York. I was either taking care of my mom and sister or going to school. Then I moved to Paris for six years.” She smiles at her mention of Paris. “And since I’ve been back I’ve been working.”