Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
I wondered if he knew.
Right from the start when he gave me that strange, slowly dawning look of horror.
But I didn’t think we’d do this now.
I didn’t think we’d do this at all.
I thought he’d just pretend to forget, to convince himself it never happened, just like me.
Nope. Remember how I said I’m Miss Unlucky?
And of course Mr. Honesty chose the best time to have this little talk after kicking me to the curb for being an idiot, proving he doesn’t have a single civil bone in his body.
Or is it some kind of twisted punishment? He’s been annoyed with me all day.
So maybe that’s partly my fault.
I’m sure I haven’t been a perfect angel. Maybe I have enjoyed the way he loses that mask of gruff professionalism, too.
God, there’s no maybe about it, and now it’s payback time.
He rests the edge of his hand against the steering wheel and turns to face me, a frown tugging his lips down.
“Salem?” he asks.
Shit.
I haven’t said anything yet.
I’m just sitting here mute because I don’t know what to say.
Panic and horror wrestle in my gut, threatening to turn me inside out.
What the hell do I do?
How does anyone respond to this?
“Yes,” I say. “Yes.” Say something besides ‘yes.’ “I think I was.”
“Good.” He sounds both relieved and annoyed.
“Yes,” I say again, trying not to smack myself in the head.
“It was a long time ago now,” he rumbles.
“Sure was,” I say miserably.
Holy cringe.
“We were so young.” He looks at me like he’s reflecting on just how young I was back then. Barely twenty-one. Just a fresh-faced baby in the merciless world who didn’t know better than to sleep with a man who was destined to become one of the most desirable men in the entire city.
I mean, from the way Kayla talks about him, he could be on the top one hundred hottest bachelors in America list.
“Young, yes,” I echo. At least it’s not just ‘yes’ this time.
Stupid.
He clears his throat like every word takes crushing effort. “Everyone in their twenties has bad hookups that might come back to haunt them. We all make mistakes.”
Mistakes. Right-o.
At least it’s taking him effort to get this out.
But is he really expecting me to answer? To throw my hands up and forget?
No chance.
Because his little ‘mistake’ changed my life forever and made everything ten times harder, even if I’d do it all again for Arlo infinity times.
Meanwhile, he’s been grumping along, getting rich with his brothers, and slurping fancy coffees every morning that would make me bankrupt.
I’m stuck grinding with a kid—his kid—all alone in this city. Desperately trying to get off the ground before I’m thirty and figure out a stable life.
He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to say something profound, to save us both from suffocating in the awkward silence.
Something better than one-word answers, which really are about the extent of my vocabulary right now.
My chest hurts like it’s swarming with angry hornets.
The same ache I felt when I found out I was pregnant and alone.
It tastes like stress and fear and it promises to crush my organs if I can’t make it stop. If I let it get the better of me, I’ll forget how to breathe.
Don’t cry, don’t cry.
Not in front of Patton Rory. Jesus, don’t do it.
If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s letting him know what he’s done to me.
I honestly can’t fathom how he seems so unaffected beyond losing his words.
But I push at the ache, forcing every raw emotion into a condensed ball at the pit of my stomach, and let numbness replace feeling.
That’s what helps me look back at him, feeling my face go safely blank.
If he wants a few pointless platitudes, fine.
“Sure. I wondered if you remembered,” I say, my tone too flat. An expression crosses his face that I can’t quite read. “You’re right. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“And I don’t want ours getting in the way of our business relationship. That’s why I’m dropping this on you—on us. Sorry if it makes you feel like shit.”
Yikes.
Frustration reaches through the numbness and pulls at my heart.
I’m still in disbelief.
Because if he knew he had a hidden son, that would definitely get in the way of any relationship we’ll ever have. I nod like a sagging puppet.
“It’s fine. Really. It’s whatever. It was a long time ago and we’re clearly different people now.”
“Salem—”
For a second, I close my eyes, willing myself to end this conversation without a full psychotic meltdown.
“No, no, I promise we’re good, Mr. Rory. Just don’t call me Lady Bug!”
Boom, there’s my exit.
I fling the door open again and make my escape before my lungs seize up.
I’ve forgotten how to breathe and I’m drowning more by the second.
I just know I have to get away from the source of it right now.