Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
I dart through the pretty crowd, the scent of seductive colognes and alluring body sprays nearly cloying—everyone is dressed to win a date with a pro athlete tonight.
My focus, though, is singular, and it has been for a long time.
Follow your dreams.
Those words are tattooed on my heart, and I’m putting them into action. After I escape the ballroom, I extract my phone and scurry down an opulent hallway, holding the device out in front of me like an offering to the technology gods.
Still no signal.
What about the ladies’ room? I pop inside, where a throng of women check their reflections. It’s a dead zone in here, too, so I retrace my steps and then march farther down the hall.
Don’t rich people need to communicate like the rest of us? Actually, come to think of it, they probably clap, and the universe delivers whatever they need on silver serving platters.
Frustration bubbles up inside me as I search for a room that’ll lead to, I dunno, maybe a window?
That’s it! All I need is a window.
I’m almost at the last door in the hallway when my phone flickers with a hint of a bar.
The door’s closed, which probably means I shouldn’t go in. There’s also a reserved sign hanging on it. Which is possibly a nice way of saying stay the hell out.
But reserved doesn’t necessarily mean off-limits. There’s room for interpretation, so I interpret.
Holding my breath, I gently push open the door that leads into…a library.
And it’s empty.
Well, it’s clearly not reserved now.
I shut the door most of the way, just in case anyone comes by, and take in the towering mahogany bookshelves filled to the brim with leather-bound tomes. They’re beautiful enough, but the real prize is in the corner.
“Come to me, you sexy window. Wait, no. I’ll go to you,” I say to the glass panes since now I evidently talk to windows.
I race across the library and stand under the towering window, phone held aloft. The first bar fills in. Hope floods my cells. Except…that’s barely enough service to send a text, let alone receive an email.
But if I were at the window level…
There’s a ladder positioned against the bookshelf right next to the window, and a grin takes over my face. That has to be a sign. I’m a painter, so ladders and I are tight.
I set the dick clutch on the marble floor, then give a quick glance at my vintage, rose-gold dress—1920s style but without the flapper fringe. I need a little more wiggle room, so I kick off my shoes, hike up the skirt, and climb the ladder attached to one of the bookshelves. I angle my phone toward the source of that elusive signal, trying to balance myself on the ladder rungs while holding the phone high.
The window is a foot or so away. If I can just stretch out my arm, my phone will receive emails like coins pouring into a leprechaun’s pot at the end of the rainbow. And I can surely reach a little farther. I’m limber. Hell, I’m almost a cat, thanks to the pole classes I take with my friends. This ladder’s practically a pole.
Like Belle in Beauty and the Beast, I lift my left foot up to get a little more reach, then stretch on my right.
A faint chime echoes through the library, breaking the silence with its sweet sound. That has to be my inbox.
My heart! It foxtrots.
My future is landing. I just know it. But right as I’m about to climb down, my heart tugs.
Only…that’s not my heart.
That’s the delicate lace bodice of this vintage dress caught on one of the protruding hooks on the ladder.
No, no, no, no.
I try to free the dress, but the hook stubbornly refuses to release its grip on the fabric.
Holding on tight to the ladder with one hand, I try to wiggle the lace with the hand that’s holding my phone. But footsteps creak in the hallway, growing louder. My heart speeds. Shit. I can’t be caught like this by mansion security. It might be embarrassing for Asher if his plus-one is discovered climbing ladders she shouldn’t be climbing, in libraries she shouldn’t be frequenting.
Are the owners going to slap me with a trespassing fine? Is that even a thing?
I don’t know, but my phone’s dangling from my fingertips in its protective case. I make a split-second decision and let it go. Right as it clatters to the marble floor, I hoist my boobs up, freeing the dress from the hook.
I am a superhero! I saved the dress and the phone and my ass.
I swing around the ladder like it’s a pole. It’ll be faster to jump than to climb down. I let go, bracing myself to land on my feet, when…
Oof!
My head snaps back as my dress snags on another hook. My feet hit the floor, and just as a loud rip echoes through the air, the door swings open and Asher walks in.