Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
While Elle’s great at adopting another artist’s style, there are differences.
The penguin looks softer in her hand, a tad more whimsical.
I see her loving hand in every line with her Inky drawings. I can imagine her style as I read about her koala bear called Kiki, this sweet-as-pie creature who’s always smiling and wearing a giant sun hat as she harvests tea leaves. Her own imagination gives Inky’s new pals a fresh cheerfulness.
Honestly, I can’t believe she’s still here.
Putting all this work in with Aunt Clara.
Showing up bravely with a smile on her face that rivals her cartoons—especially after the way I curb-stomped her heart.
Facing me down.
Infecting me with her courage to say the shit I need to say, when I’ve been fighting myself for days to figure out how to make peace and give her the apology she deserves.
I never expected that we’d find a way to carry on.
If she’d taken my apology and told me where to shove it, putting an end to our bizarre entanglement, I wouldn’t have blamed her one bit.
Somehow, though, she’s still a part of my life.
And I can’t deny just how much that eases the tension in my chest, freeing me to breathe again.
Fuck, why can’t I stop?
Why is she always first, second, and third on my mind?
Why can’t I forget how she looked straining under me, unafraid to show her pleasure, and every time she screamed, I just wanted to hear her louder, louder—
“Hey.” A pencil bounces off the side of my skull. “Earth to asshole.”
I jerk up, blinking.
My eyes are slightly sore after staring at the sunlight for so long.
When I swivel my chair, Deb is standing over my desk. She’s trim in a navy blue sheath dress with short sleeves and a chunky black vinyl belt. She props her hands on her hips, eyeing me.
“Oh, now you notice I’m here?”
“You did try to blind me with a pencil.” I kick the pencil away from my chair and send it skittering across the floor. “How long have you been here glowering?”
“Oh, I’ve been saying your name for like three minutes, nerd. You’ve been on Mars.”
“Pardon me for being lost in thought. Someone has to do the thinking around here.”
Deb bares her teeth, clearly not amused.
“Makes me wonder what you were thinking about.” She smirks.
I roll my eyes. “Did you want something, or did you just come here to gab?”
“Yeah, stupid brother. Your fiancée”—she stresses the word, taunting but not cruel—“is waiting in the lobby. You forgot you were going to go out straight from work, didn’t you? Since Elle’s too polite to text you the kick in the head you need, I’ll do it for her.”
I blink and glance at the clock on my laptop screen.
6:07 p.m.
Fuck.
“I didn’t forget,” I snarl, standing quickly and throwing my suit coat over my arm. “I just lost track of time.”
If I haul ass, we can still make our ticket time.
If we miss it, we can go out to eat until the next showing.
“Someone’s in a hurry.” Deb keeps smirking as her gaze trails after me toward the door.
“I’m late,” I growl.
“Sure, sure, that’s all it is,” Deb says mockingly.
I stop before the door, impatience vibrating through me as I turn back to her. “Why are you being so smug?”
Deb whips out a folded paper she had under her arm and shakes it out so she can hold it up.
It’s a tabloid magazine.
Elle and I are on the cover, sitting next to each other on the beach, passing a container of strawberries and another one with cold chocolate fondue back and forth. She laughs brightly with her hair in tangles across her face from the wind.
I just start swearing.
“How the fuck is someone following us this closely without being noticed?”
“Dunno,” Deb answers too cheerfully. She taps her manicured green nails against the headline. BAREFOOT BILLIONAIRE’S BEACH BOUDOIR! “But you look like you’re having fun for once, Mr. Barefoot Billionaire.”
I grit my teeth.
The image stops me cold.
I don’t recognize myself on that cover.
I’d taken my suit coat off. My socks, too, because Elle insisted that the sand would be warm under the surface if I just dug my toes in.
She was wrong—it was goddamned arctic—but I kept my toes buried in the silky-soft sand anyway while the wind flipped my hair. My vest was half-unbuttoned because she’d stuffed me so full of sandwiches it was getting uncomfortable.
And I’m laughing.
She’s pointing toward the shore. A sea lion pup was doing barrel rolls in the shallows until it hit a deeper pool and sank with a splash, only to pop back up with a comically confused look on its face.
Even I couldn’t help it.
The little pup almost reminded me of one of Aunt Clara’s characters.
But that man in the photo—
I don’t know him.
I only see myself in the mirror when I’m shaving and styling my hair, or in press photos.