Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
I’ve been flowing, and I’m still flowing, only this time it’s someone else’s flow that’s carried me away while behind me, my husband is still whining—
"Mr. Everford, this isn't—Nicole, tell him! This isn't right! Where do you—"
His boss slows to a stop, and I hold my breath for some reason. Is he going to—
Oh.
I'm not sure how it happened. The moment the billionaire stops, they glide out from the other end of the hallway like everything's perfectly choreographed, and it almost has me start pinching myself because I'm starting to wonder if this is a dream—
Is it?
Is this a dream?
Because right now, everything is so...unreal, with how my husband’s boss is nodding at what seems like the head of the gang, I mean, this ninja-like group of men in black, and the gang leader, I mean, the head, he’s nodding back—
"Mr. Everford, this is all a misunderstanding!"
My husband's voice sounds so alarmingly close that it automatically has me turning—
There it is again.
The slightest and most subtle of pressure on the small of my back, the flow wanting us to keep flowing, and so I obey.
I don't look back while his black suits who may or may not be ninjas walk past me.
"Let me pass!"
I'm not sure what he's asked them to do, but it's made Sandy sound angrier—
"Nicole! Come back here!"
While I continue to flow where this almost-stranger flows, this time straight into the elevator, and as the doors slowly close on my husband, the ninjas—I mean, the gang, oh, I give up—and his tiny intern who’s still sobbing oh so prettily—
It’s just the two of us now, my husband on the other side, and me on this side with a tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed billionaire.
This can’t be happening.
I can even feel him staring at me, and that makes me all the more convinced as I lift my gaze to his and say—
"This is a dream, isn't it?"
Chapter Three
"I BELIEVE WHAT YOU mean to say is a nightmare."
That's a very logical reply, and since logic and dreams can't coexist—
Well, there goes my theory then.
All of this...isn’t a dream.
It’s real.
A nightmare made real because...because...the shapes—
I only realize that my knees have completely given out under me when I find myself in Mr. Everford's arms in the next second.
"I'm s-so sorry—"
I'm stammering while turning red. I know this isn’t the way a woman my age should act. Yes, I've just caught my husband in bed with his intern—
Delia.
Her name pops in my mind, finally.
It was just so hard to think when I first saw them together, but now it’s as if my mind is suddenly working double time to remind me of all the things about her.
Delia.
The intern that Sandy first mentioned at dinner two months ago. The intern who doesn’t have family in town, and so I even remember making a mental note that time to invite the poor girl over for Christmas, but now the joke is on me because life...it just works like that at times, you know?
One moment, I’m several Pinterest photos deep while planning all the holiday parties I have to host at home. The next moment, I’ve been uninvited to my own future Christmas party because...because...
I think I need something else to think about.
Please, self.
Please give me something else to think—
"There's no need to apologize."
And there it is.
An answered prayer that tempts me to think my husband has been wrong all these years. He told me before that church is only for losers, and at that time I believed him.
"You asked for my help."
With our heads so close, Mr. Everford’s voice almost feels like I have an angel whispering straight to my ears.
A handsome angel who sounds just like James Bond, that is.
"And I chose to give it. So take the help you asked for."
The sound of voices reaches my ears as the elevator doors slide open, and I...just react without thinking.
I bury my head against his chest like a little chick burrowing into a cozy little nest, and I only realize what I've done when I feel his strong, hard chest vibrate against me in a silent chuckle.
What in the world are you doing, Nicole Petty—
Oh.
I've been Nicole Pettyfer for almost twenty years, but now I'm wondering how long that will last, and...
How long does it take to stop being someone?
How long does it take to not be Mrs. Pettyfer anymore?
No, no, no.
I really don't want to do this.
But it's just too late.
The tears are falling, and I can't seem to stop crying. His shirt has completely gone wet, and—
"It's okay."
He's speaking again.
My husband's boss.
"Cry as much as you want."
The words low enough that I know I'm the only one to hear it.
And somehow, this...just makes everything real.
Sandy and Tiny, I mean, Delia.
Their shapes under the covers.
In a room that I paid with my own money.
Money that I secretly worked so hard for because I wanted to surprise him with a suite upgrade.