Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Chapter 38
I was a person of plans. Like Brant, I liked order. Research. Intellectual thought that put trajectories into motion and controlled their paths and outcomes.
Molly had been my problem.
This newspaper, this setup: my solution.
Carefully crafted steps to ensure a positive outcome.
Lose Molly. Gain Lee. Carry on.
Winning would give me a sense of accomplishment, a righting of one wrong. But still, a bigger problem loomed. Once I had Brant and Lee, then what? How would this story end?
The best-laid plans still deserved a purpose, and I needed to find mine.
For now, this one seemed foolproof. I ran my hand over the colorful print of the newspaper’s front page. The false cover was wrapped around thirty-two pages of legitimacy, and I couldn't tell the difference. They floated seamlessly. Our articles matched the inside pages, the paper weight, color, and consistency the same, the phone numbers and emails listed all sending any inquiries from Molly directly to Don. It was a work of art. I grinned at the glaring photos, which screamed of sex. They made the perfect impression, and now… one final touch.
I took out a red Sharpie and wrote WHORE in big red angry letters across the front. There was no way he would miss that. I grabbed my cell and called Don. "It's ready."
"You approve?” he asked.
"It looks great. You got a guy to sit at her place?"
"Yep. And I'm tailing your boy. As soon as he heads to her place, I'll have him put the paper in place."
“I don’t know when he’ll go there. It might take a few days, or even weeks. The printer is ready and can print a fresh paper each day. Just mimic what I do on this one.”
“I know, you told me. We’ll stay on top of it.”
"And call me as soon as it looks like it’s going to happen. I want to be there."
"You're the boss."
"I'll leave this one at the print shop. Have your guy pick it up soon." I slid the paper back into the manila envelope and carefully closed it. Staring at the parcel, I gave myself one final chance to back out.
It took two days, and then I was there, parked outside her Mediterranean-style apartment, watching them scream and fight and destroy the chance for whatever love had existed between them.
I didn’t care. I was happy that it happened. They didn’t have a future anyway, not really. I was the one he belonged with, whether he knew it or not.
I drove out of her complex and headed to the spa for a celebratory massage.
Chapter 39
After three hours of seaweed wraps, a facial, and a vigorous deep-tissue massage, I picked up a sandwich for Brant and headed to his office. He wasn’t there, an unsurprising fact. I stuck his sandwich in the office fridge and scribbled a love note for him. Then I got in my car and left Palo Alto, taking the winding highway that took me home. I ran a few errands along the way, detouring through Lee's part of the world in the hopes that fate might put us together. Nothing. I got back on the interstate.
When I pulled into my driveway, my mouth curved into a grin at the sight of Lee's Jeep, parked on the right side of my drive, his tall build leaning against the hood. His head lifted and he stepped away from the vehicle as I parked in the circular drive. That didn't take long. I got out and turned to him. His hands were tucked into the front pockets of his shorts, his shoulders hunched but his eyes steady, the cool afternoon wind whipping through us both.
"You lost?" I called out.
"Figured I had to leave the slums every once in a while." He waved the crumpled-up receipt from on our first meeting - the one where I had scribbled down my phone number and address, over five months ago. He glanced toward the house and raised an appreciative brow. "Nice digs."
"You look dirty,” I said. His hair was wild and dusted with sand, like he'd driven top down through the desert. "Sure you aren't just using me for a hot shower?"
He stepped closer and rested his forearms on my convertible’s hardtop. "You trying to get me naked?”
I met his cocky smile. "I don't need hot water for that." I shut the car door and headed to the porch, and he followed me up the steps. "Where's the girlfriend?" The words rolled out perfectly, call casual innocence.
"She's gone." He shrugged, but I caught the way his eyes lowered, and I heard the scratch in his throat, the attempt to hide the catch with a short cough.
I unlocked the door and held it open, waiting as he passed inside. I took my time closing it behind me, knowing that—as soon as it shut—the dynamic in this situation would change.