Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“That’s not fair.”
“Spare me the platitudes. I only require you understand that, once she leaves, you will find, as trite as it sounds, that you will function differently. Possibly not at all for a little while. And if you’re as foolish as I was, you won’t discover this until she’s already gone. Second, when you find yourself having this mental breakdown, I will have you removed from the board.”
Now, there’s the Beckett I know. Blackmailed his wife into marriage? I can well believe it.
“Close the door on your way out,” he says in a final act of dismissal. Picking up his spectacles again, he adds, “Don’t forget to take the newspaper. Kerry will sort out your shoulders.”
But I don’t need a massage. What I need is Mimi.
32
MIMI
Weird, weird, weird. That conversation with Whit was freakin’ weird!
How did we get from growly declarations of I don’t like it and hot kinds of promises to apathy? How did we go from I’ll send you on your dates with my cum dripping between your legs to careful you don’t drink the anal lemonade!
He isn’t acting like my lover. Or my big brother. More like my pimp. My nonsexual pimp. I mean, he’s sexual, but—
Urgh! This makes no sense.
George, Whit’s driver, picked me up not long after we ended our call, and I spent the ride into the office scanning the dating app on my phone, making “connections” that I’m really not interested in. But if he’s going to start vetting my dates—like, did I even agree to that?—then I’ll have to be prepared. Prepared to tell more lies. It’s like the more I feel I need to tread carefully, the more the universe conspires against me.
The afternoon passes quickly. I check in with Jody again and listen to her complain about her being the size of a bus. Brin calls but doesn’t mention our missed lunch date to the canelés place. I can’t say I’m surprised or disappointed, and while yesterday was great, I could do without feeling like I’m undertaking a deposition. I also don’t think we’re fooling anyone about me and Whit being employee and boss. Not that I won’t still insist on the charade playing out.
I’m really not looking forward to going back to Whit’s to get dressed for my fictitious date. Worse, I’ll have to leave and find a coffee shop to sit sad sack and alone in. So I’m pretty happy when I’m hit by a wave of genius.
That might be overstating it a little, but it works for me.
I don’t go home. Well, not until it’s gone eight in the evening. My grand plan? I didn’t have to go through the motions—my fake date could be straight from work! And so it is—a date with myself! No preening or priming, no effort at all, in fact!
I’d called George and told him I didn’t need a ride home, then I caught the bus into town and spend some time wandering around Liberty London, which is this funky department store that isn’t like a department store at all. It looks like something out of the Tudor period with its black and white façade, and while I’m sure there are buildings in London that are from the Tudor reign, I’m guessing Liberty’s isn’t. It’s still pretty old, though. And I love it. I’d sprayed myself in different perfumes, wandered along the cosmetics counters, and drooled over a couple of ridiculously priced purses. Then I wandered up and down the ornate staircases and perused the shelves at my leisure, but ultimately, I’d left the place empty-handed.
I didn’t need anything after Whit’s spontaneous shopping extravaganza.
I spent another hour soaking up the atmosphere as I’d strolled around the theater district. As the light begins to change, the evening rolling on, the theaters began to shimmer and shine, and it was wonderful.
It feels freaking awesome to be in London. I’m so buzzed to be here and went on to congratulate myself on my good life choices by treating myself to a bowl of katsu fries and a fancy lemonade (minus the occurrence of surprise anal) at a nearby cocktail bar. I even gotten hit on, but that wasn’t the highlight of my day because that comes when I’d keyed in the code to get back into Whit’s apartment, finding him already at home…
My smile literally stretches across my face when I see his fancy Rimowa cabin bag in the hallway. Slipping off my coat, I practically skip into the living room. Doesn’t seem to matter what the head says, the heart (and libido) want what they want. And what they—I—want, is standing in the middle of his living room, dressed more like someone who robs banks for a living than the CEO of one.
“You’re back!”
“I am.” My heart feels like it an elevator that drops a floor as I notice the lack of warmth in his tone. Oh, yeah. I’ve been on a so-called date. I guess that’s why his gaze falls over me, like he’s looking for some change.