Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I want to go back to my apartment that’s twenty floors above my office and work under shitty halogen lights and do all the things that are what I do. That are predictable. That are safe.
Holt Mason is none of those things.
Yet for some reason, I’m drawn to it. To him. And that scares me.
He sits back in a false display of relaxation. “What could it hurt?”
“What could it hurt? I don’t know. The entire idea is crazy.”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” I say, exasperated. “I met you yesterday, and you’re offering to let me stay at your house. You don’t even know me.”
The corner of his lip twitches. “I’d say I know you pretty well—inside and out.”
I look at my water glass to avoid his eyes.
“I’m just saying it could be fun,” he says. “And I think you need a little fun.”
“I need something, but I don’t think fun is it.”
He sighs. “What do you need then?”
“I’m not sure.”
He fiddles with the edge of the napkin. I want to knock it out of his hand and make him stop, but I don’t want to touch him. Something tells me that if I touch him, things will get cloudier.
“Your problem is that you can’t put this in a box,” he says.
My gaze flips to his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you like to have everything labeled. It’s work. It’s acceptable. It’s unacceptable. It’s a one-night stand. You can’t figure out how to label what it would be for you to stay with me for a few days.”
“Yes, I can,” I say. “I would label it as crazy.”
He bites his bottom lip. “Crazier than sleeping with me last night?”
I look around the room. No one is within earshot, and that relieves me a little. But when I turn my attention back on Holt, I don’t think he cares either way.
“You need a label? Fine. Label it a multi-night stand,” he says, fighting a grin.
A warmth spreads through my middle as his eyes hood. I used to know how to fight this feeling. I don’t seem to anymore.
“So you really just want me to sleep with you again?” I ask.
“Yes. But also no.” He leans forward in one swift movement. “I’m not going to lie and say that it didn’t cross my mind. Imagining you spread out on my bed has me hard as hell right now. But I also think that it might be fun showing you around for a couple of days—even if you don’t want to sleep with me.”
I blow out a long, tense breath.
My body screams at me to take him up on the offer while my brain begs me to think it through. My heart checks out of the conversation because it knows better, thank God.
I’m just left with a brain full of logic and a body needing a replay of last night. It’s a dangerous position to be in.
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
“Fair enough.”
As I watch him slice his fish, I wonder if there’s anything at all fair about Holt Mason.
Eleven
Blaire
“That feels good.”
I tidy the papers in front of me into a nice, neat stack and then close the folder. The Lawson case is a mess of epic proportions. I’m lucky I brought some of it with me. Fortunately for me, it was the perfect thing to throw myself into after the whole asbestos bomb was dropped in my lap. But if the asbestos call was a bomb, that makes Holt’s offer to stay with him a nuclear missile.
We let the idea slide during the rest of lunch. Holt didn’t mention his offer again until he paid for my meal and then returned my credit card. I’m not sure if I would’ve brought it up if he hadn’t. Probably not. I’m also unsure if I should take him up on it. Again—probably not.
I get up from the table and stretch my arms overhead. The clock next to the bed shows that I sat down at the desk five hours ago. As I look at the folder stuffed full of notes, I’m relieved at what I was able to accomplish despite the crying baby across the hall again. But, at the same time, I’m not sure how I’m going to find the space to sort through the rest of the evidence and witness statements.
The muscle across the back of my neck tenses as Yancy’s text from a couple of hours ago filters back through my mind.
They’re now saying they expect us to be displaced for five to seven days. Not as bad as originally thought.
“Great,” I mutter to myself.
I walk to the window and peer outside. Groups of people sit on the sand and watch the waves while others kick a ball back and forth. The sky is a brilliant, muted blue. The water shimmers from the sun’s early evening rays.