Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Myra sits down next to me, letting out a long sigh. “He’s asked me to do the impossible.” She drops back onto the sofa.
“I don’t believe there is a thing you can’t do.” I raise an eyebrow at my sister. The woman is unstoppable. I wish I had half her drive. She’s always known what she wants and goes for it. I’m a drifter who sort of lets things happen. My job applications range from vet tech to working in a library. I have no idea what I want to do in life, I just know it’s not working in a restaurant. The poor owner of 68 Diner tried me as hostess, server, busser, dishwasher, and even doing some prep cooking. I failed at them all because high-stress situations and I do not mix well. I explode under pressure and make things ten times worse. When too many things are on my plate I fold like a cheap chair.
“The party.” She closes her eyes for a second. “Mr. Cox picked a venue that I can’t get. I’ve tried a dozen times to talk to the owner of the estate but he won’t take my calls and I’ve been stonewalled.”
Now I know the problem. My sister has a little bit of the same problem I do with saying no, but hers is only with her boss. If Mr. Cox asks her to do something she always comes through. Always. She doesn't want to go back to him and tell him she can't get something he asked for.
“Why won’t they talk to you?” I’m sure Mr. Cox would spend whatever amount of money he needs to in order to lock down the venue he wants. My sister throws a handful of parties a year for his company and they’re never small. The events are extravagant and I could tell money wasn't a thought when they were pulled together, but if you’re Mr. Cox I guess money is never a thought.
“The owner apparently doesn't like people.” Myra shakes her head. I want to laugh because Myra doesn't like people either but she pretends to because it comes with her job. I love people. I might not want a man but I always enjoy company.
“He doesn't like money either?” I tease. I don’t want to know what she’s offered already. I still cringe sometimes at how nice our place is. It’s so different from how we grew up. With Myra’s fancy job came a fancy condo and a fat paycheck each week. At least I’m guessing it’s big because we no longer struggle like we once did.
“He’s got his own.” She rolls her eyes.
“You want me to talk to him?” She’s actually had me do this for her a few times when she can’t get someone to bend to whatever it is she needs to be done. That’s when she sends me in.
“Maybe.” She gives me a pleading look.
Myra is convinced I have a way about getting things I want. She said it’s why I didn't get canned from the diner sooner. People have a hard time telling me no. Actually I don’t think I got fired from the diner. I took pity on the owner and stopped showing up to do everyone a favor. Myra often jokes it’s my dimples, that when I flash a smile people melt. I think I’m just good at talking to people and it comes easily to me.
“Give me the address.” I pick up my phone off the coffee table as she goes for hers to text me.
She nods when my phone pings and says, “Look at this place.” She shows me a picture. She flips through a bunch of them and my eyes widen.
“Wow.” I stare at the breathtaking stone castle in wonder. It’s beautiful but a little bit creepy with some of the overgrown ivy that goes up the sides. I could see the appeal of having a party there. The castle has a history to it and I’m dying to know what it looks like inside.
“I guess the owner is a recluse and doesn't like people, from what I’ve found out.” Oh, I’m sure Myra has done all the digging.
“How do you think I’m going to get past those gates?” I ask.
Sure I can talk to the guy, but the bigger problem looks like getting to him. A giant stone wall protects the home and no one is getting in without being let in.
“Flash those dimples to the guard at the gate.”
“Okay.” I shrug. I’ll give it a shot. What’s the worst that could happen?
Chapter Two
TIMBER
“Excuse me, Mr. Grayson, there’s someone at the gate.”
I sink the axe into the wood one last time before I turn to face Simon. Sweat rolls down my face and I use my forearm to wipe my brow. I feel the dirt and bits of wood abrade my skin, but I ignore it.