Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I nod and head to the door. As I grab the handle, it moves, and before I know it, I end up pushed behind the door as it opens.
“I just wanted to come and pay my respects,” a familiar voice announces.
Gently, I push the door closed so I’m no longer squashed behind it, and I almost choke at the sight of Mr. Jenkins’s visitor. Is that who I think it is? I can only see the back of his head, but isn’t it—
“And to give you this.” He holds up a blue-and-white key ring. “It was on sale.”
“Ha, ha,” Mr. Jenkins says, clearly not amused. “You’re no funnier than your father.”
I take a couple of steps around the door, unable to tear my gaze away from the office interloper, when the door creaks and both Mr. Jenkins and my oldest friend in London turn to stare at me.
I pull my mouth into an apple-pie grin. “Hi,” I say.
Ben frowns but doesn’t say anything.
“This is our new project manager,” Mr. Jenkins says. “She’s going to be helping me prepare for your health check, among other things.”
Someone’s hooked a cannonball onto my insides as realization dawns. Ben, the Daniel De Luca doppelgänger, the guy I flat-out refused to help last night, is my boss’s most important client.
Chapter Seven
As I’m climbing Cowcross Street—and “climbing” is accurate, since the road is as steep as Everest—I make a mental note not to visit San Francisco anytime soon. I also remind myself never to look up the origins of London street names ever again. Cowcross sounded like a cute, eccentric name. A Google search set me straight. Apparently, the name pays homage to the cows that have been herded up this road to their slaughter. I’m in Smithfield, the meatpacking-slash-slaughtering district of London. It’s probably not an area I would have visited, but I have a front door to find.
In Sunshine on a Rainy Day, Daniel De Luca played a down-on-his-luck artist on the brink of giving it all up when he meets an heiress in front of his favorite painting at a gallery. I’m trying to find the front door of his studio flat in the film. It might seem odd to want to visit a front door, but the scene where he and Jennifer Elm, my second-favorite actress of all time, argue and he runs out after her, barefoot, into the rain-filled street is one of my favorites.
Daniel barefoot in a rainstorm is a scene to be savored. And I’m hoping it will bring me luck. Finding out the guy who may or may not lose an important deal because I declined to be his fake fiancée was my boss’s most important client wasn’t the highlight of my week. I don’t think Ben will say anything directly to Mr. Jenkins, but he might be predisposed to nitpick the health check documents because he knows I prepared them.
After Ben dropped off the key ring, we had an awkward introduction where we kinda sorta acknowledged we’d met before. Mr. Jenkins was distracted and didn’t push for details. Since then, I haven’t stopped thinking about Ben and whether I should have accepted his offer. Twenty thousand dollars is a lot of money. And Ben? He seemed like a nice guy who needed my help.
My phone buzzes and I take a climbing break to see who’s calling. Panting, I think of the added insult to injury for those poor cows, who were forced into a grueling workout before being put to their death.
It’s Melanie. We still don’t have the time difference figured out, so we’ve been missing each other’s calls. I have so much to tell her.
“Finally,” she says as I answer.
“I miss you.” It isn’t how I’d planned to start our call, but hearing her voice triggers something in me.
“I miss you too. New York City isn’t the same without you.”
It’s only been a week, and it wasn’t like we saw each other every day when I lived with Jed, but I know how she feels. There’s something about knowing your best friend is a cab ride away that’s reassuring.
“How are you?” I ask, wanting to hear all the news. Coming to London was so sudden. I haven’t seen our group of girlfriends since Jed and I broke up, and I’ve only heard from Melanie. They probably don’t want me to think they’ve been gossiping, but of course they know we’re not together. And they must know I’m in London—I posted an image of Green Park to Instagram a couple of days ago.
“Same old, same old,” she replies. “I want to hear about you. Are you leaning in to rediscovering Daniel De Luca? Have you come across the man himself during your quest? I’m convinced you’re going to. I feel it in my soul.”
Daniel De Luca quests. Maybe that’s a business idea I could run with if I get fired.