Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Hey Posey,
Following up on my last email—the one with the NDA attached. If you could get that signed and sent over soon so my agent can file it away, that would be great.
You’ll be glad to know I’ve settled into my parents' old place in downtown Dallas. It’s loud at night and not my cup of tea, but the noise won’t kill me I don’t suppose, till I can find a house or something. Kind of taken a shining to the burbs, ha!
Hope all is well.
Great.
Now he’s hounding me about the freaking legal document he wants back. I don’t think for one second he actually gives a shit about how I’m actually feeling or how I’m doing—and it shows. The entire (short) email was about what he’s up to and how he’s settled.
Whoop de do.
Work is a joke. I have children surrounding me all day, some of them causing trouble while the other ones are actually trying to learn from me—all the while my head is someplace entirely different.
In the clouds?
Up my own ass?
The last damn human on the planet I should be fixated on is Duke frickin’ Colter! He does not give a shit about me!
“When are you going to get it through your thick skull,” I ask myself angrily, pushing the lawnmower in the backyard. It had a full tank when I started it up, parked in the shed out back that had once been an unorganized, cluttered mess.
Not any longer.
Duke had taken most things out, sorted the junk from the things we needed, and reorganized the entire kit and caboodle. Tools were hung in their proper places on the pegboard, cords were wrapped up neatly, totes and boxes were stacked and labeled.
It was nice having a bored lumberjack living in the house. He sure had put his stamp on the place.
I walk back and forth through the yard, pushing the lawnmower into straight lines while my imagination wanders. I catch sight of Mrs. Galvin a few times gawking at me while I do my chores—as if seeing me alone is shocking.
“The man was here a week and a half. Get over it,” I mutter, grateful the mower is loud and keeping me too busy to walk over to her hedgerow and make chitchat.
Wednesday passes.
On Thursday, I get a message from an unknown number.
Unknown: Hey, it’s me. Just checkin’ on you ’cause I hadn’t heard back.
Unknown: You doing okay?
I don’t respond.
In fact, I hit ‘Block.’
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who the unknown number is.
18
duke
Did Posey seriously block me from her phone?
After a few days of not hearing back after emailing her that damn nondisclosure agreement, I sucked up my pride and hit up Molly for her cell.
When Molly wouldn’t give it to me, I had no choice but to reach out to Eli, who vehemently suggested it was a terrible idea to send her a text message when I’d already sent her two emails.
“Now you’re borderline being aggressive,” he informs me. “She made it clear she doesn’t want to speak to you.”
Did she?
By not replying to an email?
Pfft.
Not likely.
Not Posey.
“She’s got me in the Friend Zone—I think it’s okay for me to send her a friendly message.”
Eli snorts. “Between you and me, you should have done that days ago.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Days.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I were you, I would have shot her a message the day you bailed, not stuck a note to her door.” There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and it sounds like my agent is rummaging around for something. “Forgot to tell you, Molly sent along an envelope. I’m supposed to give it back to you.”
Fuck. She sent back the envelope?
“Can’t you just give me her damn number so I can resolve this?” I hesitate. “Please.”
He sighs. “One of these days, you won’t have to learn about women the hard way. One of these days, you’re going to listen to me from the beginning and not go rogue.”
“Learn about women from you? What are you, my dating coach? No—you’re my agent. And I seem to recall you not only borrowin’ me a truck so I could go see the boys, but you sendin’ it to the house so I wouldn’t have to be seen at the dealership.”
“One—only because you promised you would lay low. You promised you wouldn’t go to a bar, wouldn’t take them to eat, wouldn’t answer their door. Two—you laid a guilt trip about your father and mother and not having seen your brothers in months and you’re the only father figure they have.” He laughs. “I haven’t had anyone lay a guilt trip on me like that since my ex-girlfriend pretended her baby was my child.”
“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic. Besides, how could I have known those chicks on campus would recognize me?”