Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Prior to moving to Silver Mist, I used to be one of your run-of-the-mill, overworked, and underpaid workers trapped in a concrete jungle in California. Office guys were a dime in a dozen back in those days, and trust me when I say that none of them had hands like Mr. Handsome’s. Those guys had weak-looking hands and manicured nails, hands that looked like the most physical thing they did was carry a cardboard tray of Starbucks coffee every time they needed to buy their way into their superior’s good graces.
Mr. Handsome’s hands, though...
They were large, rough, and callused, the kind that men who knew what real work meant would have. Was he that type of man? I suppose I could just ask him, but—-
“Morning, Blair,” Nix sang out as she emerged from the kitchen. Tall and slender, the younger girl was at that rebellious stage in her life where she equated hair color to an assertion of her individuality. Last week’s color had been ash gray. This week’s was cotton candy pink.
“You look beautiful as always,” Nix gushed as she reached me.
“Nix!” My voice was half-pleading, half-hissing (I’m not sure how I managed it, but I did). I loved that she and Mr. P were trying so hard to get Mr. Handsome to notice me, but at this point he would have to be an idiot not to know what was happening.
Nix’s eyebrows shot up in feigned surprise. “But you do look beautiful. Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve been living her for over a month—-”
Oh no.
“And you’re still single,” the younger girl finished triumphantly.
Cast it!
Nix’s eyes danced with mischief as she cocked her head towards Mr. Handsome’s direction.
I shook her head. No way was I looking at him after what she said.
She cocked her head towards him again, more insistently this time. LOOK!
Oh, River of Lethe...here goes nothing.
I slowly turned Mr. Handsome’s way.
Magnetic hazel eyes collided with mine, and I quickly snapped my head back. As mortifying as it was to admit, having our gazes meet was already more excitement than I could handle; my breath had locked in my throat as my heart rate picked up speed – for Cronos’ sake, Blair, please act your age!
“Here’s your order, by the way.” Nix placed a steaming hot plate before me. It was Panda’s Breakfast Special: sunny-side-ups, bacon, buttered toast, and a healthy serving of Mr. P’s homemade potato salad. Normally, the sight of it was enough to bring a smile to my face, but right now I had a nasty feeling I might not even manage a single bite.
I could still feel Mr. Handsome’s gaze on me, and I wondered glumly if Nix’s words had him realizing how plain I was. Maybe he even thought I was unattractive? I couldn’t blame him if he did. I knew I wasn’t hideous or anything, but I also knew my features were far from eye-catching.
Wavy dark brown hair I always kept tied up in a bun, the same shade of eyes, skin so fair I could easily get lost in a white background, curves that had never left me since I hit puberty – and, oh, did I mention I was kinda on the short side, too?
Honestly, the only thing I had going for me was my love for clothes. Today’s outfit was a loose floral dress in shades of blue and gray, black tights, and a pair of leather oxfords. If I had to put it in words, I suppose it would be that I had an instinct for knowing what looked good, and it was a talent I found quite handy, considering how little I could afford to spend on my wardrobe.
“Enjoy,” Nix was saying. “And if you want another pair of toast like you usually—-”
“Err, no, this is fine,” I cut the younger girl off hastily before she could say more. It wasn’t that I was ashamed of how much I ate (nothing wrong with a healthy appetite, you know?), but I’d also rather not have my love for carbs be one of the first things Mr. Handsome knew about me.
Nix left with a cheerful wave after pouring coffee into my mug, and I did my best to ignore Mr. Handsome’s piercing stare as I took out my textbook. I wasn’t actually in the mood to study, but I needed something to look at while I struggled to regain my composure.
Placing the copiously bookmarked hardback on the counter, I absently started flipping through it while taking a bite of my toast. It had the words Level 1: Spells and Brews emblazoned in pretty big letters on its dust jacket, but I wasn’t worried about anyone catching a glimpse of it. All of my books from CSI were spell-protected, and unless they were on the agency’s to-see list, both supernaturals and immortals would see the same thing humans did: a dusty, obscure economics manual published the first year Adam Smith started talking about modern capitalism.