Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
I panic. “The reunion isn’t for another eight years?”
Nodding, he calls back, “I know.”
“The messages were messed up.” Cupping my hand to the side of my mouth, I shout, “I can explain the misunderstanding—”
“I got your messages. That’s why I’m here. But I’m receiving this one louder and clearer. I’m out of here.” He reaches his car, glances back, then ducks inside his vehicle. I hear the locks latch in place.
The heaviness of the disappointment and embarrassment I feel weighs on me, but I still make an effort to try again. “I only have forty-eight hours left to close this deal. I need you, Shane.”
But I already know it’s too late. He’s reversed and ready to take off. “Shane? I can explain,” I say, running up to a rolled-up window. And then I realize this is my last chance. I run in front of his car, reminding myself that a responsible adult wouldn’t do that. It’s not safe, but it’s my only shot at getting through to him. “There’s been a massive mistake.”
Cracking his window, he commands, “Move out of the way.”
“No, you don’t understand. I tried to warn you in the messages.” I dare to put my hands on the hood of his—Oh my God, is this a Ferrari? Matte black with the emblem between my hands confirms that, yes, it is indeed a Ferrari, and as stunning as he is.
A horn blaring startles the crap out of me, and I jump to the side, my natural instincts kicking in. He pulls around me, but the window is still sealed shut. Throwing my arms wide, I yell, “We’re already married.” But then I realize that will only make him drive away faster. I’m about to shout something else, but there’s nothing I can say that won’t make me sound like the stalker he already thinks I am.
I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t believe me either. Nothing about this situation makes any sense to a logical person.
Defeat sinks in, and my shoulders fall, watching him pull onto the main road. I tried . . . Insult to injury, the car’s horsepower kicks into gear like he can’t get away fast enough.
Now what? Hire a divorce attorney I can’t afford to draw up the papers and hope they get filed before he obtains a restraining order?
The emotional toll of the past fifteen minutes have made every minute feel like a year of hard labor. I walk back to my car, more confused than ever about what I should do.
The first will be adding this encounter to the list of most mortifying things I’ve ever done. It definitely earns the top spot.
I load my bag into the back seat, then yank open the driver’s door, ready to take a long bath and pray I can forget this ever happened. Tomorrow is another day to untangle this web.
Just before I sink in, I hear, “Why did you say we’re married?”
6
Shane
“Because we are,” she says, moving closer to my car. I keep my foot on the brake, but I’m ready to hit the gas, just in case.
In this business, I had to be a quick study on reading people or they’d take advantage of me. I’ve gotten pretty good at it, and her eyes don’t seem to be telling lies.
“Good night, Cate,” a woman calls from a few cars down.
She turns to look and smiles when she sees a coworker. Her smile is so genuine, so pure, like the one I remember from when she was eighteen and standing on that beach. How’d this girl manage to stay herself through life in the twelve years since then?
So much has changed in my life, including me.
Cynical? Maybe.
Burned? Many times.
Guarded? Definitely.
Now that I know she isn’t stalking me, I wasn’t wrong in my initial assessment. Cat Farin is fucking stunning.
Gold threads through her hair, making her eyes shine brighter, if that’s possible. I have to force my eyes off the curve of her neck and the fantasies forming in my head of licking her from the base to the shell of her ear. But it’s when she shifts and her coat exposes the shape of her waist to those hips, the brown fabric not doing the killer body underneath justice.
When we were eighteen, she stole my breath and never gave it back. Even now I struggle to capture air into my lungs just looking at her. Like her beauty, it can’t be caught.
I’m struck by a glare when I reach her eyes again. “You finished there?” she asks as if she’s assuming I was undressing her. I was checking her out and far from done. But I’m definitely finished for good now because when she’s angry, she’s fucking spectacular. I bet she’s great in bed. It’s a fucking mystery why she isn’t having sex whenever she wants. Looking that good, I’d fuck her at least once, even if she was stalking me. I mean, come on. How could I resist?