Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
A kiss she would remember, even if one day she forgets all about me. But the universe shit on me yet again when Prince Charming fell out of the fucking sky, a not-so-subtle reminder that my life is black and white.
There is no room for the color, for those soft, feel-good moments that offer just a moment of reprieve from the rest, where what could be the simple task of breathing is just that: simple. Easy.
Someone kicks my foot, and I open my eyes, realizing we’re pulling up to the airstrip.
I can’t meet Brady’s eyes but push out of the car the moment I can and go right for the set of stairs leading to the plane. I’m halfway up before the others are even fully out of the car, and when a soft hand finds mine on the railing, I look down.
Paige’s smile is unsure as she looks up at me. “Did I… Are you upset?”
I stare down at her, my hand moving on its own, knuckles grazing her cheek. “No. I’m not upset. I’m thankful I got to come tonight.” And I am. I needed to see all this.
To feel this.
I needed to remember that to have is to lose, and I can’t afford to lose, so I can’t have.
“Chase—”
“Thank you for inviting me, Shortcake.” I force a smile, pulling myself free and moving into the plane.
I take the seat near the back, the one that sits on its own beside a small table, so I can sit alone.
I no sooner settle in the seat than a fresh glass of champagne is set before me.
I stare at it for several moments, watching the bubbles as they crawl their way to the top. I pick it up, finishing off the half glass, because it would be tacky to pour a full one, right? That’s not what wealthy people do. There’s a proper way to drink, eat, walk. Hell, probably even sleep.
Curious, I pull my phone from my pocket and type in the name of the company that’s stitched into the backs of these seats, the same one that’s on the outside of this jet.
Instantly, an array of articles come up, but I click the one that has two bolded words: retire and legacy.
Billionaire and CEO Grant Randolph the Fifth rumored to retire but to whom will he leave his legacy?
My muscles lock.
Billionaire.
Billionaire?!
Holy shit. And his legacy?
My eyes snap up to Paige.
So Paige’s grandfather isn’t just rich. He’s filthy fucking rich and, if these articles are true, on the track to retirement.
What does that mean exactly?
Is that why she’s been gone so much? He’s preparing her for her new life? A life with endless money and private jets for the hell of it on weeknights?
She deserves that.
For the first time in my life, I understand the struggle of having to make it on your own. Not that my dad isn’t still doing all he can for me, but that’s the thing: There isn’t much he can do, and I don’t want to be the reason he’s in an even worse position.
Paige has had no one for years now, living on and trying to build a dream off the money she received from her blue-collar father’s life insurance. From what she’s said, it was only enough to cover school and the purchase of her studio. Everything else, she’s been handling all on her own, and with grace. She’s—
“Young man?”
My eyes snap up, my skin flushing slightly as I slam my screen into my chest.
Henry’s eyes soften, and he holds out the champagne bottle.
“May I?” he offers gently.
I hold his gaze a moment, waiting for judgment, for that moment that his eyes narrow, telling me without telling me I should mind my own business, but I don’t get that. Just the warmth of an old man. So I nod, and he takes my glass, filling it with another half glass before passing it back.
My eyes linger on the bottle, and when he walks away, I open a new tab and type the champagne brand into my search bar. Taking a small drink, I wait for it to pop up.
My eyes bug out and I choke, sitting up and smacking my chest.
“You good over there?” Brady chuckles.
My attention yanks their way to find them all staring, and I fight not to fucking flush.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Wrong pipe.” I don’t meet anyone’s eyes but sit back again, glaring down at my screen once more.
Four thousand dollars.
Four thousand fucking dollars, and they’ve already opened three bottles, there’s so many of us. That’s… I’m going to be sick.
I push off the seat, ignoring the glances my way, and charge to the back of the jet and into the small bathroom.
I drop my head, taking deep breaths as I start to sweat, my stomach literally turning. I splash water on my face, not caring that it’s dripping and soaking into my jacket—my jacket that only cost fifty bucks at a department store last year.