Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 77(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 77(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Maybe it was just the alcohol. It was possible that he couldn’t get it up because of the alcohol. Yes, that must have been it.
Feeling relieved for finding a plausible explanation for tonight’s failure, Peter set his drink down and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window.
Christmas lights made the city look even brighter than usual. The view was unbeatable, but he was so high up that people looked like small ants, moving in groups. He could imagine the bright smiles on their faces as they did some last-minute Christmas shopping.
He’d never felt more removed from them.
Peter sighed, his shoulders hunching. He didn’t hate Christmas, but he had to admit he didn’t love it, either. This time of the year never failed to make him feel like an outsider, an observer watching life pass him by.
Grimacing at his bleak thoughts, Peter turned away from the window. Even if he were the type to be happy with 2.5 kids and a house with a white picket fence—which he wasn’t—there wasn’t a person in the world he wanted that American dream with.
He glanced at his phone, wondering if Justin was asleep already.
Fuck it. Even if he was, Peter was his boss. Justin’s time belonged to him.
Unlocking the screen, Peter brought up his most recent contacts and tapped on Justin’s name.
Justin picked up on the third ring. “No,” he said, sounding half-asleep. “I won’t come back to work. You gave me permission to sleep in my bed. I’m in my bed, in my favorite Batman pajamas, and you aren’t allowed to ruin it with a work emergency.”
“There’s no work emergency,” Peter said, kind of wishing there was.
“Then why are you calling me at ass o’clock?”
“It’s barely ten.”
“I don’t care, Peter. God, I can’t escape you even in my dreams… I was having a beautiful dream starring two gorgeous women and me on the beach. We were having so much fun, but then you appeared like the worst kind of cockblocker, in your Tom Ford suit—on the beach!—and you ordered me to clean your fancy Italian shoes with my tongue. And the worst part was, I did it—while those gorgeous women were watching. I’ve never been more ashamed of my subconscious.”
Peter cleared his throat a little, his stomach clenching from the mental image of Justin licking his shoes. There was something... almost appealing about it.
He said with a smirk, “It’s not my fault your subconscious knows whose bitch you are.”
“I hate you,” Justin grumbled. “You’re the worst boss I’ve ever had.”
“I’m the most lenient boss you’ve ever had. Anyone else would have already fired you for your lack of respect.”
“There’s no lack of respect,” Justin mumbled. “You’re the best lawyer I’ve seen, but sometimes I don’t think you’re human. I’m convinced you were born in your fancy suits, with your smug, stupidly handsome face and arrogant smirk. Do babies smirk?”
Peter snorted, amused despite himself. “I’d ask my parents—well, if I spoke to them in this decade.”
“I’m sorry,” Justin said after a moment, his voice disgustingly soft.
Peter grimaced. “Nothing to be sorry about, Danvers. I’m hardly the only person in the world with estranged parents. It’s fine.”
“Do you know that you call me ‘Danvers’ when you feel uncomfortable? It’s a tell.”
“Quit psychoanalyzing me and go to sleep,” Peter said with a smile. “You’re making even less sense than usual.”
“Whose fault is that?” Justin murmured before hanging up.
Peter was still smiling as he put his phone down, relieved that the tension building under his skin was gone.
Chapter 4
Peter woke up the next morning feeling extremely antsy. At first he thought it was just the hangover, but the feeling didn’t go away after he fixed his hangover with some greasy food. If anything, the more time passed, the worse his anxiety got.
He didn’t fucking do anxiety.
It wasn’t normal.
Peter could no longer deny that something was wrong. He could no longer ignore the itch under his skin, an itch to be elsewhere, go somewhere. And as much as he hated admitting being wrong—and as much as he scoffed at the idea of being affected by that bullshit spell—he could no longer deny that he did seem to be affected by it.
He had a soulmate.
The mere thought made him cringe. Damn it, it was ridiculous for a grown man to even consider nonsense like that. But Peter was a realist. As a lawyer, he liked facts. And the facts spoke for themselves. He’d been seemingly unaffected until Saturday evening. His soulmate must have been close enough for him not to feel the pull toward them—which meant they had been in the same building all week.
He could find out how many people had been in the building the previous day easily enough. He had contacts. But why make an effort when he had his personal associate to do the grunt work?
Besides, he hadn’t spoken to Justin since yesterday. It was... strange. He was used to brainstorming ideas with him all the time. His associate was excellent for that kind of thing. And his arguments didn’t annoy Peter even when he was wrong. That was rare. Most people were annoying even when they were right.