Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 41105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to keep going. I slam the binder shut and shove it aside.
Needing a distraction, I cross the suite and try the door to the heated pool.
Locked.
I grab a robe, slip it over my skin, and step into the hallway in search of someone who can help.
The warmth of the suite vanishes behind me. The air in the corridor is cooler now—noticeably so, like the heat’s been siphoned out on purpose.
No attendant in sight.
I move toward the hot tub lounge, but the space is silent and still. Abandoned.
The candlelit corridor—where a dozen patrons were chatting just minutes ago—is now deserted. No voices. No laughter. Just wax pooling onto marble and a silence that curls under my skin.
I clutch the robe tighter and step into the lobby, my breath catching the second I see them—five suited men, seated like statues in velvet chairs, each one watching me like they’ve been waiting.
The one closest to the exit stands.
“Here you are,” he says, holding out an iced coffee. “I was told this is your favorite.”
It is, but…
“You can come with me now, Miss Jane,” he says. “It’s time to work.”
I blink. “What?”
“Would you prefer a different beverage before we leave?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Please tell Mr. Rochester that I won’t be leaving. I’m off today.”
“He figured you’d say that.” He taps something on his phone and holds it out.
“I don’t have time to argue with you today, Miss Jane,” Ryder says the moment I hold the phone, his voice clipped and cold.
“You said, ‘I’ll see you in two weeks.’”
“I said ‘soon,’ but I’ll probably see you then, too.”
“You literally said—”
“I didn’t mean the next two weeks.” He cuts me off. “My apologies for not making that clearer.”
“Ryder, look—”
“I am looking. Start walking with him toward the car. This is very important to me.”
“Well, ‘boundaries’ are important to me.” I feel my jaw tightening. “After this one, I really need to be done.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’d rather just… date you instead of work for you, since this randomness without a schedule doesn’t work for me.”
“I’ll print you a schedule then,” he says. “Start walking.”
He hangs up without another word.
He gestures toward the door with practiced ease—like this is just another item on his list.
I fall into step behind him, not because I want to, but because I know this isn’t a battle I’ll win. Not today. He’s made the rules clear. And for now, I’ll play along—just long enough to figure out how to break them.
The elevator hums as it ascends, the silence between Ryder’s men and me stretching longer than the ride itself. I’ve been in this building before, and as the scent of rosemary and charred wood continues to sift through the air, the memory locks into place.
Resno’s…
The doors glide open, revealing the same floor I stepped onto the day I signed my divorce papers. The day Ryder’s lawyer begged me to run away from him…
Tonight, the panoramic windows with the stunning view of the Puget Sound are nothing more than a memory. They’re covered with black papers, and guarded with steel-gray warehouse racks.
There are no clothed tables for patrons to sit and dine, only a long wooden one at the far corner with two chairs, where Ryder is standing by, waiting for me.
He gestures for me to walk forward, and I oblige.
Behind me, his men rush away, and then new men begin entering the room, rolling in stacks of boxes that they place on the warehouse shelves.
“Good evening, Miss Jane,” Ryder says. “How was your drive?”
I refuse to answer.
“Have a seat,” he commands, and I don’t bother protesting that request.
A man in all gray moves to the other side of the table. He unpacks a massive black machine that takes up most of the surface. Then he plugs it into the wall, powering its screen without a word.
Ryder pulls out a thick bundle of hundred-dollar bills and drops them in front of me.
“It’s rare when someone surprises me,” he says to me, as more boxes roll into the room. “I would’ve never guessed you had an ulterior motive at your crafts store job, especially after getting deported for the same crime in Canada. I’m impressed.”
I don’t say a word.
I just keep watching as the boxes continue to fill the room, as they block the windows and nearly touch the ceiling.
My counterfeit operation was a hobby, and Crafts & Notes provided me with the key to more than just the violins.
They sold the best paper for making counterfeit, but I swore that I’d only make enough to get away from Nate.
The authorities in America wouldn’t take too kindly to discovering that I hadn’t learned my lesson from years ago, so I only made enough to cover a few thousand dollars.
I swore I’d never do it again.