Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
But I couldn’t help it. I wanted to see his apartment. I was also worried about him. This was a terrible neighborhood, and the exterior of this building didn’t make it appear to be a rare haven within the dangerous cesspool. It was one of the many things that had been on my mind since we’d parted ways on Saturday.
“There’s been a lot of car thefts and break-ins recently. It’s not a good idea to park your car here.”
“Carl drove me.”
Byron rolled his eyes and sighed as he stepped back so he could motion for me to enter. “Try to rein in your enthusiasm. My place isn’t as nice as yours.”
I opened my mouth to say that I didn’t expect his apartment to be some ritzy palace, but the words died on my tongue as I stepped inside. It was a shoebox of a studio apartment. The kitchen ran along one wall, and it comprised a two-burner stove, a sink, and a mini fridge. He had a futon that was likely his bed and sofa, a folding camping chair, and an overturned cardboard box that served as a table. The only nice things in the entire room were his laptop, which was supplied by the company, and the closet full of suits.
I thought I’d been paying Byron well. I couldn’t think of the exact number off the top of my head, but I knew it was six figures. Why was he living so poorly? Did he feel like he had to spend all his money on suits for work? Maybe I needed to include an extra stipend in his annual paycheck for suits, ties, and shoes.
“Does your boss not give you raises to keep up with the rising cost of living?” I tried to make it sound like a joke, but worry was gnawing deep at my gut. Had I failed him and my other employees this badly?
Byron growled as he walked past me to hang the suit in the closet. “He does.”
When he strode past me, going in the opposite direction, he snagged the bag of bagels from my hand and closed the door. “But it’s like I explained yesterday, healthcare in America is expensive. My paycheck goes to pay for my brother’s medical care. I also support my mother.” That last part was added in such a growly, angry tone that I stuck a big red flag in the topic of Byron’s mother.
Do not ask about his mother! Do not poke.
I watched as Byron put the bag of bagels on the counter, then grabbed a cutting board to lie across the sink, expanding his counter space. He pulled out the small tubs of cream cheese and the plastic knives they’d tossed inside.
“Are you going to have one too?” he inquired.
“Well, I think I will stay for breakfast, since you asked so nicely.”
Byron snagged one of the plastic knives and pointed the tip at me. “Fine. But no more questions about my apartment or money.”
“Of course. Did you start reading your book yet?” I inquired to prove that I’d forgotten about his living situation.
I hadn’t. Not in the slightest, but poking at Byron’s tender spots would not soften him toward me.
“No, not yet. I slept and caught up on emails last night. You?”
“Finished one. Trying to decide what to read next,” I replied, as I selected a cinnamon swirl bagel. Byron peered into the bag before turning his sharp gaze on me, the anger on his face replaced by a look of wonder and surprise. “You got all my favorites. How did you even know?”
“What? It’s not weird that I noticed which are your favorites. You’ve been eating bagels with me for three years. I bet you know my favorites.”
“Everything bagel if you don’t have early morning meetings and can brush your teeth. Cinnamon swirl is your second favorite,” Byron answered. “Yes, but I order your food most days. I’m supposed to know.”
“You like the raisin cinnamon swirl, but your favorite is the chocolate chip paired with the strawberry cream cheese. You also like the orange-cranberry one, but I think you tend to forget it exists because you can only get it at the store several blocks from the office.”
“I…” Byron looked away from me, but I could still see the blush staining his cheekbone as he focused on spreading strawberry cream cheese on his chocolate chip bagel. “You’re crazy,” he grumbled.
I smirked as I fixed my bagel. When we were both done, Byron snagged two bottles of water from his fridge, and we carried our breakfast to his living room. He dropped onto his futon with the lumpy black cushion, and I sat in the camping chair that creaked under my weight.
“So…I was thinking…” I began after we’d eaten in silence for a couple of minutes.
“This scares me,” Byron muttered between bites, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips.