Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
The coffee shop I just left closes its door. The “closed” sign swings left and right like a plastic hand waving goodbye. Strange time of day to close up, but if it’s just that old lady on her own, I can’t blame her. That’s hard work I’m looking at—normal, respectable people doing what it takes to make a business they can be proud of.
I’m proud of Jasmine already. Without knowing her story, I can see she’s made of the stuff people would hire if they could. People like her and the little old lady in the coffee shop have too much of their own steam to bother playing to someone else’s tune.
I just hope that same feisty attitude doesn’t apply when it comes to certain older men asking her out on a date.
The first car pulls up after I’ve waited for what feels like forever, but is really just long enough for people to make it to this side of town. I recognize a few faces as more arrive. They’re doing exactly as they were told. Sure, it’s a cushy job they’ve got, but this is what lets me run it with such a loose hand on the reins.
Although they don’t know I’m watching, I’m proud of them, too, in a way. Doing what they have to do so they can live their own dreams, but smart enough to play the game when they have to. Doing what they’re asked to, especially when it’s coming from me.
My dream is right in front of me, and I feel the glow of satisfaction with each bunch or bush she sells her sudden run of new customers.
My plan to head back over might not be the brightest one, but I can’t play cat and mouse like this forever. I guess I just need to know if she’s into me or not, once and for all. Otherwise, I’ll never sleep again. Though I don’t think I could sleep, regardless of her answer. She’s the kind of girl that keeps a man up at night, in his bed or not.
I’m so lost in trying to keep my eyes on her, then finally getting my reward once it’s clear she’s sold out of everything. It doesn’t register that she’s closing up for the day.
She goes to the coffee place next door and sees the closed sign. She sinks a little before heading down the street.
Every last petal in the place is mine now, and there’s only one flower left to pluck.
So, will you just watch her ass walk away, or will you talk to her?
Snapping to my senses, I take off after her, keeping my distance because the few times I get close enough, I can feel it. That thing she does. However, she does it, or whatever it is, it only makes me want to do one thing, and I’m sure as hell not going to try that in public.
It’s last night all over again.
She hasn’t gone to see anyone or done anything. Just straight home.
The word “home” doesn’t match the building, though. The thought of her seeing that place as home churns my stomach. She’s got something way better waiting for her. Someplace I know she’ll love when she sees it.
So, I watch for a while. The sky turns into a dark gray tone before night falls. I could look at her or anything to do with her for hours without stopping.
Not knowing what floor she’s on or when she might appear again, I decide to just go for it. I can make up a reason for turning up at her door on my way over. I can find a way in once I cross the street. I make up all the plans on the spot, willing this to happen right now.
Getting a whiff of my pits through my soaked jacket and shirt as I start to move, I hesitate, feeling and hearing the squelch of my rain-soaked Italian leather shoes. The tailored pants had already shrunk from the wetness, making me look and feel like a success story who went bust during the afternoon crash.
I know I should really make a better impression on her. Jasmine deserves the best, not some underslept, underfed man who smells like gym socks. I should get myself cleaned up and changed.
It’ll mean leaving her unattended, though, and that bothers me.
A lot.
Seeing as my staff seems so flexible, I don’t see why that shouldn’t apply to more than just buying flowers. With a direct call to the security desk from my phone, I instruct them to have a detail sent to the building across from the laundromat.
“Keep it low-key,” I inform the head of security, John Lipton. “If an insanely attractive strawberry blond leaves the building, I want to be the first to know,” I tell him firmly, hanging up.