Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
The murmurs of shock around the table are music to my ears, a crack in the foundation of House Corbin. If my aunt wants to play games with my life, I’ll return the favor with the one thing she holds dear as well.
“Simon!” she hisses. Seeing the eyes looking at her in horror, she plants her palms on the table and stands to her full, powerful height, looming over the board who remain seated. Having garnered everyone's attention, she delivers her verdict. “The winner of the competition will be Beatrice Dupont. I have decided.”
Venerable does me a solid for once and challenges Jacqueline before I can say more. “As if you know what is relevant? Wasn’t that the whole issue and reasoning behind the competition?”
All the air is snatched from the room.
There is no room for anything but Jacqueline’s iron fist here. She earned the right, building House Corbin from nothing. It’s her right to run it into the ground and see its demise as well.
I’ve already given my notice, but this only solidifies it for me. I can’t be here when all I want is Autumn.
I meet Jacqueline’s eyes on an even level and feel the attention in the room turn to me. “On that note, I’d like to inform you that I have given Jacqueline my notice of resignation, effective immediately. I am here today only to empty my office and have closure on the competition, because while it was not my design in the end, it was my idea from the beginning. It has been a pleasure working with you.”
I give a polite slight bow, glancing around the table quickly, and step out from my place at the end of the table for the last time.
“Simon,” Jacqueline calls after me, desperate.
I don’t turn around.
CHAPTER 27
AUTUMN
I’m back in the hustle and bustle of New York City, but I’m the one plodding along, barely keeping up with the crowd. The noise of the traffic, the city, and the people is both familiar and alien after the month in Paris, where things are quieter and slower.
I stop and grab a hot dog from a street vendor. It’s not what I should eat, and definitely not a good breakfast option, but the smell attracts me, and given that I haven’t eaten much of anything in the last few days since arriving back in the States, I’m going to eat while I can force something down.
Standing there as I eat a few bites, I see a homeless man in the doorway of a deserted store. Without thinking, I buy another hot dog and cross the street. “Excuse me, are you hungry? You want a hot dog?” I ask the man.
“Huh?” he mutters, still half asleep. But when he sees what I’m holding out, his eyes pop open and he reaches out instantly. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He’s talking around a huge bite, and I wave as I continue on. My destination is the same as every morning in New York. The coffee shop. Inside, the smell of roasting beans hits me and I take a large inhale of the comforting aroma.
“Oh, my God! Autumn!” Claire shouts, leaving her post behind the counter to come around and hug me fiercely. A few customers grumble, but she ignores them in New York style—by flashing them a middle finger. “How are you doing? How was Paris? Did you win?”
Her bullet-quick questions slam into me at the same time she does. “Uh, okay. And no.” I huff out a wry laugh at the idea of my winning. “I kinda went out in a blaze of not-so-much-glory.”
Her usually grim expression turns sour. “What do you mean?”
She holds me out at arm’s length, scanning me with narrow-eyed calculation. I look back into her black-rimmed eyes, noting that she has white dots framing the cat-eye liner. She’s wearing a red tank top, black denim shorts, a flannel shirt tied around her waist, Dr. Martens boots laced up to her knees, and thigh-high red fishnets. She also has plastic horns clipped in her black hair.
Despite her appearance compared to mine, she asks me, “Why do you look like you took a trip to hell, toured the fire pits, and came back a hollow-eyed shell?”
“Gee, thanks,” I answer dryly. But I know she’s right. I feel empty—a cavernous void left where my heart used to reside. “I, uh, met someone there. It didn’t end well.”
Claire calls over her shoulder, “Tommy, I’m taking ten!”
“What? We’re in the middle of a rush,” Tommy answers. Claire whirls around, a dark look on her face, and Tommy pales. “Sure, yeah. No worries.”
She cuts in front of the line, completely ignoring the dirty looks the customers give her as she reaches around the counter to grab two cookies from the case. She offers me one and guides me to a table in the corner. There’s a guy sitting there already, but with one look from Claire, he gets up to leave. “See you tomorrow, Claire.”