Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102560 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
I’m glad I’m entertaining him. Truth is, I’m entertaining myself. I’m basically a melted puddle on the floor from just looking at him.
I act like a complete moron around him.
Hell, even I can see the humor of the situation. If the roles were reversed, I’d be entertained, too.
Behind me, I hear his steps, and then I feel the weight of his hand being placed on the small of my back.
Shivers run down my spine. Goose bumps break out on my skin.
It’s not just my brain that is affected, but my body as well.
I’m hyperaware of him, and as we step toward the car, our bodies touch.
Calm down.
At least I won’t have to jump up into a Wrangler in this dress.
Instead, a really nice Mercedes is parked outside the house. A man stands in a suit with the door open. He must be the company driver.
“Is he with you?”
“This is Reginald, and he works for The Elysian. He is one of the many drivers on staff if one of our residents needs a car service.”
“Another service you provide. “
“I think, Layla, you can see there is very little we won’t do for our residents.” This is a good tidbit to add to my article, and I wonder if I’ll remember it after tonight. I will.
“Does this get booked through the concierge?”
“Mentally jotting down notes, are we?”
“Always working.”
“And that’s why I respect you.” His words and praise shouldn’t get to me, but they do. They make me feel important. I feel seen.
I never knew how much I enjoyed praise, but since meeting Cain Archer, I realize I do. Or maybe it’s just his praise.
Maybe I enjoy his reaction to me or his approval.
God, do I have daddy issues?
Not that he’s old enough to be my dad. It’s only a ten-year age gap. That’s not much older than me.
Plus, that’s the least of my issues.
One being my job.
Leaving being the second.
I need to stop micromanaging everything and just enjoy myself tonight.
Reginald opens the door for me, and I step in and sit down. The distraction is exactly what I need to stop my ever-present inner monologue. Placing my hands on my lap, I tap my fingers at the material of my dress. A few seconds go by, and then Cain’s walking around to the other door and enters like the gentleman he is.
Prim and proper, he’s not the rugged architect walking through the paths on a hike.
Now, he’s all suit.
I don’t know which version I like better, the laid-back version or this one.
No.
I do know which version I like the best. I like the version that plays darts, laughs like we are kids, and knows how to bowl. That’s the version I think only I get to see.
It takes us about thirty minutes to get to our location for the fundraiser. The event is for the key investors of this development.
When we walk in, the first thing we do is grab two flutes of champagne, and then we start to walk around.
The location is much like The Elysian. It feels like I’ve walked into a midsummer night’s dream.
The lights are dim, candles illuminating the space. Vines hang from the ceiling, intermixing with the lights.
Cain introduces me to everyone we come in contact with.
He exudes confidence in every introduction, demanding respect. I watch him as he schmoozes. He’s something otherworldly, and the way he works the room, it’s truly a sight to be seen.
At one point, he smiles at me and tells me he has to speak to someone, and as I watch him cross the room nodding at other people, I notice a presence beside me.
“You’re here with Cain Archer?”
I turn to the voice, and I see a woman who looks to be in her mid-thirties. She has long, wavy, brown hair, bright green eyes, and heavy makeup. Her dress is skintight.
“I am.”
“He’s quite extraordinary, isn’t he?” she coos.
“Oh, it’s not like that,” I say, waving a hand dismissively at her underlying statement.
“I didn’t think it would be with you,” she responds, looking down her nose at me.
Something about her cut feels a little deep, but then again, she looks like a model who’s probably now a housewife.
A trophy wife, and I’m just a struggling, poor journalist, a little out of my element.
“I wish we could keep him.”
I turn to face her, and I see that she’s not talking to me anymore. Now she is talking to the next Barbie. Another trophy wife, maybe? Are these the residents who’ll be living in The Elysian? The idea that a woman like this would be the resident of such a spectacular home doesn’t sit well with me.
Will she ever appreciate the house? Or does she just like it for the technology? Does she understand the work it took for Cain to make it into this paradise?