Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“I hate dude bros,” I say with a sniff, her sweet, familiar voice bringing all my emotions swirling back to the surface. “And I hate myself a little right now, too.”
“What? Don’t you dare hate on my Maya,” she says, sounding outraged on my behalf. “Maya is the best.”
“I’ve messed up, Syd,” I confess. “Like…a lot.” I suck in a breath, Anthony’s face flashing through my head as I add, “Maybe a whole lot. Can we meet somewhere later? To talk?”
“Absolutely,” she says, without a second of hesitation, proving I have the best friends in the world. “My meeting ends at two. Want to do Oscar Wilde at three? That gorgeous bar near Herald Square we hit the last time you were in town?”
I nod, relief loosening my whip tight jaw. “Yes. Thank you. I’ll be there. You’re a lifesaver. I can’t wait to talk.”
“Me, too,” she says. “And it’s going to be okay, Maya Moo, I promise. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together. We always do.”
“Yeah,” I say, fighting tears again. “We do. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she says, ending the call just as another text buzzes into my inbox.
But, once again, it isn’t Anthony. It’s a beach bag company trying to sell me a palm-tree tote bag in December. As if I’ll ever have the cash to fly away to a tropical destination in winter at this rate…
Scowling hard, I unsubscribe from the bag company before stabbing out a swift text to the man who left me high and dry—Inspection revealed major issues. Need time alone to think and do research. Talk later.
Then I switch my phone to Do Not Disturb and speed walk toward the subway.
Yes, I had planned on attending the inspection alone, but Anthony made such a big deal out of being there, of wanting to support me. It makes his complete lack of support—or so much as a follow-up text after he bailed—that much more hurtful.
Maybe his friend really is in the hospital and he’s busy being there for him, a soft, hopeful voice whispers in my head, but I know better.
Anthony was lying to me, and I have no idea why.
Maybe Sydney will have some idea, but I have five hours to kill before we meet up at the bar.
Five hours to figure out what to do about the building.
And about the man I’m crazy in love with.
Or maybe I’m just crazy. After all, gorgeous male prostitutes don’t live happily ever with small-town girls who bought them for the week. That isn’t real life. The fact that I convinced myself it might be, even for a day or two, is probably enough grounds to have me committed.
Right along with waiving that fucking inspection clause even though I knew it was a serious risk.
I head down the subway steps, tapping my credit card on the sensor with shaking hands, my rosy dreams from this morning going up in smoke all around me.
chapter 18
MAYA
Five hours later—after crunching numbers at a coffee shop in Chelsea and a long, head-clearing walk uptown—I arrive at one of our friend groups’ favorite New York City hangouts.
Inside, Oscar Wilde looks like Christmas vomited over every available surface, but in a fun way. The Victorian-inspired bar is still decked to the nines for the holidays, with twinkling lights and evergreen swags draping over every gilded surface. A massive tree dominates one corner, oversized ornaments dangle from the ceiling, and even the famous peacock sculpture sports a tiny Santa hat.
As I step inside, taking a beat to let my eyes adjust to the gaudy explosion, Sydney waves from a velvet booth in the corner. “Maya, over here.”
Relief spreading through my chest at the sight of her friendly face, I hurry over, sliding in beside her. “Hey, you look gorgeous,” I say, leaning over to kiss her cheek. In a simple brown sweater dress and a glossy blow-out that makes her long, strawberry blonde hair shine, she’s the picture of composed elegance, as usual.
“And you look gorgeous…and stressed,” she says, concern filling her blue eyes. “I ordered you a Dirty Santa—gin, vermouth, olive brine.” She pushes the martini across the small table. “Seemed like you needed something serious.”
“You’re an angel.” I take a long sip, letting the chilled alcohol glide down my frazzled throat. Even my throat is frazzled, and every inch of my nervous system is in meltdown mode.
Not only am I no closer to figuring this thing out, I’m also no closer to getting answers from Anthony. Aside from one quick text hours ago—I’m so sorry to hear that, Maya, but we’ll figure it out. I promise. It’ll be okay. Just meet me at the apartment at four, okay? We’ll work on it together.—he’s been missing in action.
And yes, that was a nice thing to text, but until I know why he was lying this morning, they’re just empty words.