Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“He is.” Elaina kisses the top of Maybe’s head. “And he gives the best kisses.”
“Gah, I want him so badly.” Gertie looks up from the floor, where she’s teasing two gray kittens with a piece of fluff tied to the end of a stick.
“Too bad your gramps is allergic,” Elaina says.
Gertie snorts. “Is he, though? Or is he just a cranky old lobster fisherman who wants to make sure his granddaughter ends up in a toxic relationship with the sea like the rest of the family? I’m tempted to sneak a cat into my room for a week and see what happens.”
Maya’s eyes go wide. “But what if Gramps goes into anaphylactic shock or something? You know the closest hospital is—”
“Nearly an hour away,” we all echo in unison, laughing when Maya’s freckled nose wrinkles.
She’s the hypochondriac of our friend group, but she comes by it honestly. Every member of her large family has one odd medical condition or another. Nothing too serious, but serious enough that she had to make that hour-long drive to the hospital dozens of times growing up.
She hitches her chin higher. “I was just trying to help.”
Gertie squeezes Maya’s knee through her flowered skirt. “And we were just kidding. Gramps will be fine. He’s not that allergic or he wouldn’t go over to Aunt Cathy’s for Christmas, even with all the cats out in the garage.” She sighs. “I’ll probably be too tired to try it anyway. He’s had me out on the boat at three-forty-five every morning this summer. If we aren’t on the water before the Tripp boys, he loses his shit and blasts that horrible Moby Dick audiobook over the loudspeaker all day.” She yawns and runs a hand through her wild, sandy blond hair. “I can barely stay awake through dinner, let alone give a new pet the love and attention it needs.”
“Well, there’s no rush,” Elaina says. “Maybe will be here for a while. People tend to shy away from adopting black cats. They think they’re unlucky or evil or something.”
My jaw drops. “Really?”
She nods. “Really. It took six months for Shadow to be adopted. Same with Nightfall. Not a lot of black cat lovers in the world.”
“Wow.” I blink, truly shocked. “That’s wild. And sad. I guess more people are living in the Dark Ages than I thought.”
People like my father, a man who insisted running marathons was bad for a woman’s reproductive system so many times, my mom stopped running before I was born, leading to a diet pill addiction that probably didn’t do her reproductive system any favors.
I shake my head and sip my London fog tea with a hint of whiskey.
I’m not going to think about Dad right now. I’m not going to think about any of the stressful people or things waiting for me in New York. I’m on Maine time for another ten days and I intend to enjoy every second of it.
Out here, at the edge of the world, surrounded by seabirds and rare butterflies and friends who have no idea I’m heir to a global real estate empire, I can relax and just…be.
Be with friends.
Be with nature.
Be with the still, peaceful part of myself that’s so much wiser than my perfectionist side. The part that knows I’m enough, just the way I am, even if I fail to become the epic girl boss my father is determined to coax out of me before I turn twenty-five.
Silas Atticus Perry-Watson is ready to retire and has allotted one year to teach his daughter everything she needs to know about captaining a worldwide real estate conglomerate and vast charitable trust. Dad figures that since I graduated top of my class, with honors, training me to take over should be a piece of cake.
But the man has had servants cooking for him his entire life. (Before he was a Perry-Watson, he was one of the shipping empire Watsons, with family roots in New York stretching back to the eighteenth century and the fortune to equal his perfect pedigree.) Dad has no idea how complicated cakes can be. Elaina makes one with seven different rainbow layers that takes half a day to bake, assemble, and ice. (And Elaina has a knack for baking that rivals her way with cats.)
Despite my excellent grades and much-lauded thesis on the benefits of sustainable, heat-resistant construction in a warming world, I have zero experience with running a business in real life. Especially one with tens of thousands of employees and a GDP the size of a small country.
There’s an excellent chance I’m about to crash and burn.
Speaking of crashing and burning—or hopefully not crashing and burning—I glance at the cuckoo clock above the cat climbing structure on the opposite wall.
Nearly six.
The Pilots for a Paws coordinator said she would call by six if she needed help. She must have found someone else to pick up the pilot in distress. As much as I love book club time, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed. I’ve been a volunteer for the organization for two years, but all I’ve had the opportunity to give is money. I’m happy to donate, of course, but I’m a hands-on girl. I want to help save puppies with my boots on the ground.