Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
It’s the same one, rolling slow.
I pick up my pace. I don’t look over my shoulder. That’s not Connor. He’s not following me. I grip my bag tight, nearly running by the time I reach my apartment building. My heart’s hammering and I’m out of breath as I duck inside, peering through the door as the BMW cruises past, moving much too slow.
I catch a glimpse of him. Sinfully handsome. Eyes like storms and mouth like hell.
What in the world is he doing here?
“Forget something?”
I flinch and turn. Dennis stands at the other end of the lobby. He smiles uncertainly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, it’s fine, no worries.”
I hurry past him, feeling like an idiot.
No, Connor Maguire isn’t stalking me. He’s not waiting in his car near my apartment so he can follow me to the local bodega. That would be madness. And I don’t care that my period’s late, and I sure as hell don’t need a pregnancy test, and my mom’s going to be fine, she’ll cut back on the weed, we won’t get evicted, we won’t end up homeless.
Everything will work out.
So long as I can make these stupid nuggets.
5
CONNOR
Angie disappears into her apartment building and I drive away, stomach a twisted wreck, heart bashing against my ribs.
I’m fucking sick.
Six weeks. I managed to ignore her for six weeks.
Until finally I broke.
I don’t even know what forced me out here. There’s the building we’re looking to buy—but that’s a weak excuse. I’m late to a meeting with Sinead. We’re going over wedding details, which she knows I don’t care about, but she insists on keeping me informed for whatever damn reason. I should be at the restaurant already, but instead, I was sitting in my car near Angie’s place like an addict, craving one tiny glimpse of her.
I’m more than sick.
I’m deeply broken.
She’s not good for me.
Worse, I’m not good for her.
That girl is a decent person. She’s living a normal life in the normal world, and if I keep this up, someone’s going to notice. That will be very bad for everyone.
Sinead’s my future. The Gallaghers are like a shining, beautiful door with the promised land spread out beyond it. All I have to do is marry her, walk through, and everything I’ve ever wanted will be presented at my feet.
Except I’m a fucking sicko scumbag stalking a junior accounting data entry girl for no goddamn reason.
Only I know the reason.
The three photos.
Bane of my existence.
Reason my dick’s sore and my palm’s callused.
Fuck, I have to get it together.
The drive to Luberto’s doesn’t take long. I park a block off and find Sinead at a good table toward the back, catalogs and folders spread in front of her. She’s sitting forward, her long blonde hair hanging over one shoulder, absently clicking a pen against her full lips. I pause, lingering in the dim light, watching my future wife, and again I’m struck at how beautiful she is. Delicate ears, straight nose, shining blue eyes that crinkle when she laughs. She’s in a modest outfit, black top and black jeans, and there’s already a glass of bourbon waiting for me at the setting opposite.
I don’t deserve her.
“Evening, darling,” she says when she spots me approaching. She doesn’t smile, exactly, but she does this thing with her nose where it scrunches and I know that means she’s not repulsed to see me. “You’re right on time.”
“You said eight. It’s eight thirty.”
“I always assume you’ll be late.” She stands and kisses my cheek. “I got your favorite.”
I sit and drink. Misery stabs me in the throat. I really don’t deserve her.
She leans back, eyebrow arched as I take in the materials. Everything’s neatly organized, color-coded, and collated. Even her handwriting is sharp and precise.
“Are you going to pass out? You look like you’re about to faint.”
“I’m fine. It’s been a long night.”
“Oh, yeah? Got something big going on at work?”
“Not exactly.”
She lets out a soft snort and clicks her pen again. “That’s what I like about you, Connor. No bullshit. No conversation. Straight to the point.”
“Most women hate it.”
“I’m not most women, and I’m not marrying you for your personality.” She nudges a folder toward me. “Pick a suit out.”
“I have suits.”
“Good, I’m so proud of you. Pick a new one, please, or I’ll do it for you.”
I take the folder and flip it open. Inside is a series of print-outs on high quality paper showing designer jackets, slacks, and shirts. I choose at random and Sinead seems to approve.
She shuffles some pages as the waitress brings over appetizers. Yet again, Sinead has anticipated my needs, which is a goddamn miracle considering we’ve spoken barely a handful of times. The woman has a steel trap of a mind.
“Now, I know you don’t care about the majority of this stuff, but you’re going to sit there and listen anyway. Do you need anything else before I get started?”