Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Salem goes very still. Too still. The kind of still that means she’s about to drop a bomb.
“About that,” she says quietly. “Your mother … she offered me money, too.”
The words hang in the air for a moment before my brain processes them.
“What?” I spin to face her again. “When?”
“About an hour ago. At the coffee shop.” Salem won’t meet my gaze and instead focuses on arranging my pens at perfect angles. “She offered me one million dollars to leave you. Although now, I feel a little cheated that she didn’t offer me five million, too.”
An iceberg settles in my chest even as I grin. “Dammit. That explains the transfer to Charlotte. She was hedging her bets.”
“You’re not surprised?” Salem’s voice cracks. “That she tried to buy me off?”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “The only surprising thing is that you didn’t take the money and run. One million’s a lot of money, Pantry Girl.”
“I don’t want her money.” The fierceness in Salem’s voice makes me look up. “I don’t want anyone’s money. I want …”
She trails off, but I hear what she doesn’t say.
You.
I. Want. You.
“Well,” I say softly, “now you have both. The money and me. Consider it karma’s way of rewarding good behavior.”
“Lee—”
“Or consider it my way of telling my mother to fuck off.” I reach for her hand, running my thumb over silk-covered fingers. “Consider it whatever you will.”
Her lips twitch, fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”
“Yet here you are.”
“Here I am.” She squeezes my hand. “Though I’m starting to think you’re crazier than I am.”
“Without a doubt.” I tug her closer. “Want to count ceiling tiles and talk about it?” The air feels lighter, but I can still tell something is bothering Salem. “Did something else happen? Did she say something?”
Nothing will stop me from putting my mother in her place if she put Salem down for being herself.
“Kinda.” She shrugs, then continues, “She said I was ruining you.” Her voice is a whisper, and though she’s holding my hand, she doesn’t look at me when she speaks. “Told me that you were picking up my habits. Counting things. Checking things. Becoming like me.” Her vulnerability shakes me to the core.
“And?”
At my response she finally looks at me, and I swear the air in my lungs becomes easier to breathe. “What do you mean ‘and’? She’s right.” Her brown eyes remind me of chocolate and coffee. “I’m ruining you. You count things and clean things three times. Measure spaces between people. All because of me. I’m infecting you with my disease.”
“No.” I stand, keeping our hands linked, needing the connection. “You can’t infect me with something that was already there. There is nothing wrong with you, Salem. I’m coming to the conclusion there isn’t anything wrong with me, either. You’re teaching me so much.”
“Teaching? I think you mean destroying. At least from your mother’s perspective.”
“Fuck her perspective. I’ve found someone who can make sense of the chaos in my head. There is no one else like you. No one else who understands that I need patterns to feel safe, to feel normal.”
“Lee—”
“I refuse to hear anything else. You didn’t take her money.” The realization of that hits me harder the second time than the first. “Look at me, Salem,” I demand, and she slowly looks up, her lashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. I lick my lips as I speak, the desire to kiss her nearly ruling me. “There is no one else like you. No one, who when offered a million dollars to walk away from me, wouldn’t have taken that money and disappeared.”
A flush creeps up her neck. “I can’t be bought by anyone.”
I step closer, watching her breath hitch. “I realize that. But most people would run with that kind of money. Most people would take the easy way out.”
“I’m not most people.” Her voice strengthens, her gaze becoming bolder. “And this … us … it’s not something anyone can put a price tag on.”
The simple honesty of that statement steals my breath. This beautiful, broken, perfect girl chose me over money. Over security. Over an escape from all the Sterling family drama.
“You really stayed.” I reach up with my free hand, hovering near her face without touching. “Even knowing how fucked up my family is. How fucked up I am.”
“Your kind of fucked up matches my kind of fucked up.” Her lips quirk slightly. “Besides, who else is going to count ceiling tiles with me at three a.m.?”
Something burns behind my eyes. “Salem …”
“I didn’t take her money,” she continues softer, “because there’s nothing she could offer that’s worth losing this. Losing you. Losing us.”
The walls I’ve built up around my heart—walls made of rebellion and anger and cultivated chaos—crack under the weight of her confession.
“Even though you think I’m turning into you?” I try to make it a joke, but the tone is deeper. “Counting and cleaning and measuring everything?”