Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“Wait for me?” I ask the same question I did last night, searching his eyes while selfishly pleading that he does.
I need him to wait for me.
For my ego or for my heart, I wasn’t sure yet. It was too early to tell.
“Always.” He gently smiles before hiding it behind his coffee.
I step around him, heading to the bedroom and pulling out some clothes that I packed. I settle on a relaxed white blouse and skinny jeans. They are washed denim and the blouse hangs loosely off my figure, while displaying the color of my bra underneath. Red lace, obviously, and I made sure to pop open the two top buttons, knowing I was about to see my asshole ex-husband. Squeezing on leather knee boots and a leather jacket lined with fur, I made my way back into the kitchen, but Max isn’t there. Just as I reach for the door handle, his voice stops me in my tracks.
“Take this.” He tosses a phone at me. I catch it midair, my eyes landing back on his. “It was an extra one I had. My number is in there and if you need me, Isa,” his pained eyes come to mine and for a second, I feel guilty. “Call me.”
A small smile tugs on the corner of my mouth, one that couldn’t promise anything but wanted to say so much. “I will, Max.” Then I turn the handle and leave.
The difference between a dream and reality? You can have me there but not here. - Isa
I hail the first taxi that I see and slip into the backseat on the worn leather seat.
“Sixty-two Wall Street, please.” I scroll through the iPhone that Max gave me. It’s blank. There are no contacts but his and no messages at all. Twenty minutes later, the taxi pulls up to the curb of a stone building held together by four pillars at the front. I tilt my head while swinging the door open.
Royal Enterprise Holdings
…was engraved delicately into the steel above the entry. Before I can flip the sign off, I quickly shuffle through my pockets to hand the taxi driver some cash. Slipping out of the back seat I’m instantly slapped in the face with the loud streets of New York, I shut the taxi door and squeeze the phone that’s in my hand. Why does he have to own this city? I mean literally too. He owns every single piece of realty that was worth owning, and then rented it out, and he did that because he was bored, not because he needed the money. Bryant makes, roughly, around two-hundred-thousand dollars an hour. Nothing he ever does is for money, it’s for power.
Dashing past the reception, I hurry toward the elevators and push the arrow up. I was lucky to move past them undetected. I don’t really like to fight while wearing white. Blood stains can be a bitch to get out, and I don’t have many clothes as options.
As the numbers climb, my belly flips erratically. As the numbers grow higher, so does my anticipation, until tingles are electrifying my fingertips. What am I going to say to the man that promised to never leave me, only to dismiss me as if I was a maid in his life? I didn’t think this through thoroughly.
The doors ping open and before I can change my mind, I put one foot in front of the other and make my way down the stark white lobby. Everything is clean, a complete contrast to the filthy bastard who owns it. Right to the diamond chandelier that drops down over the middle of the reception desk.
“Excuse me, miss!” A young blonde who looks fresh out of college pounces out from behind a marble desk, her heels clinking against the glass tiles. Her eyes came to mine. “Can I help you?”
“You?” I ask, cocking a brow. “No.” I shove past her as she clambers dramatically back behind her desk, picking up her phone. Maybe she knows who I am and was told to call security on me if I walked in here, or maybe she was as dumb as she looked and didn’t think at all. There is only one problem with that theory, and that is Bryant never employs someone whose IQ is below one-twenty.
Shoving through the glass doors, I ignore the bright sun that shines through the floor to ceiling windows, displaying all of the people who are seated around the rectangle boardroom table, obviously mid-meeting.
My eyes found him instantly.
Bryant Saint Royal.
Ex-husband and second most disappointing male in my life. Second to my deadbeat father.
Everyone in their seats turns to face me. Most of them seem confused, some shocked. I wasn’t a stranger around here; he was my damn husband. We had a child together. There used to be photos of us in his fucking office.