Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
I nod, taking one last look around, and then walk to the door with him. He takes hold of my hand. “I’m ready,” I say, closing one chapter of my life and beginning the next.
14
Jackson
“What are the rules?”
“No rules,” I reply, studying Marlow from the kitchen. She’s not exactly made herself at home. Though I see potential once her excitement has worn off. Currently, she’s a kid in a candy shop acting like she’s never been here before. Maybe it’s because when she has been here prior, we had very specific plans in mind. It wasn’t just to hang out and watch TV.
Still, it surprises me how content she appears to be when she’s used to five-star hotels.
My place is great. It’s the opposite of hers in almost every way. Hers was clean, almost to the point of sparse except for the art. It reminded me of a gallery in some aspects with the white walls. It was a canvas for her art . . . for her probably as well. She always loved the spotlight and stood out.
Mine stands in contrast as it wasn’t just a place to lay my head but an investment and one that’s paid off. I could make a two-million-dollar profit if I sold today based on the current market. It’s a two bedroom in a swanky part of the city. I know it’s up to snuff, but it makes me glad that she likes it.
What some would call more masculine with a cognac-colored leather couch and rich-wood floors others might call boring, Clutter doesn’t cover my surfaces, but I have a few things out and about that I’ve collected or put on display like a fishing lure my dad gave me to keep when I caught my first fish at five years old. We don’t get out to fish much anymore. It’s probably something I should make the effort to do again with him.
A photo of my friends, all six of us, from junior year at NYU when we stayed at Rad’s mom’s house in the Hamptons over spring break. We felt damn fucking fancy since it’s oceanfront and a chef had been hired in.
Oh, shit.
I set my glass on the counter, debating if I should make a run for it and snatch up the hairpin before she sees it. I didn’t even remember it was there until now. It must have fallen from her hair when she came over a few months back. It was a good night—the sex fantastic, as usual, but she stayed since it was the weekend and had a cup of coffee with me in the morning.
Later that day, I found the hairpin with the jeweled M next to the couch where I had her bent over the night before and must have set it down there for some reason. I’d forgotten about it until now. But if she sees it, she won’t understand because it will look like I’ve put a piece of her on display, and I’ll be called a creep for keeping it.
Distract her. “More pizza?” I cut across the living room as casually as I can and pocket the pin because let’s face it, I am a fucking creep because I have no intention of giving it back. Has she even missed it?
Maybe not.
Maybe I’m making a bigger deal of this than I should? Fortunately, she’s too caught up in listing her bags online to care what I’m doing.
I return to pour another short glass of whiskey. I’m not looking to get drunk, but the amber liquid has taken off the edge and allowed me to sink into the exhaustion instead of fighting it.
Looking up at me from the couch, she almost seems disappointed. “Is anything off-limits?”
“Nothing is off-limits. I have nothing to hide.” I look up and add, “Except that closet.” I point at the one near the second bedroom-slash-office because I like fucking with her.
Marlow’s eyes go wide, intrigue shaping them like flying saucers. “Really? What’s in the closet?” She’s on a mission and makes a beeline for it. Not that I’m going to stop her.
“I wouldn’t open that if I were you—Ah, too late.”
As she stands there staring, her jaw drops just a little. “I thought I’d find a skeleton or two, but nope,” she says as her eyes find me across the distance that divides us. “It’s even better. The records aside, you have an impressive number of versions of Monopoly. I didn’t know you were so into games . . . board games, that is, and Monopoly specifically.”
“It was my favorite game growing up.”
“That explains your job. What do you do again?”
I chuckle. “Finance. I started as an intern at my parents' company, and then became a stockbroker. Eventually, I moved into wealth management with the Christiansens.”
Her brows cinch together, and she says, “I knew you dealt with money, but why did I not know the details?”