Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 48567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
“Thank you for your impeccable timing, as always, Marvin.”
He knows I want to strangle him as he smiles through the rearview mirror and gives me a little salute.
Mine wouldn’t have been as kind as a few fingers.
Just one.
I nod and hold out my hand to Ava.
“Ready?”
“Sure, I’ll just throw up in the bathroom later.” She jokes and grabs my hand.
“So much for being low key, it looks like we are at the end of the arrival.”
I don’t tell her I think she would make an entrance, even if she was early enough to help the janitor clean the floors.
I keep my mouth shut as my fangs fever for her.
Pictures go off in front of us and I hold her close.
Her poses are perfect. She’s perfect.
I made the right choice in bringing her, now I just need to survive it.
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Chapter 8
Red Carpet Dance
AVA
I’m so nervous I could die.
He’s holding onto me like I’m his.
I’m holding him back like it’s true.
I’ve always wanted to live a fairy tale life since all I’ve been doing since my accident has been living in a homeless shelter and trying to remember my life, but my injury doesn’t really allow it.
Gabe said it wasn’t a big deal that I have long-term memory loss, as long as I can do my job well and I can, I know I can, and I am.
It just sucks to be in your late twenties and not know where you were born, what city, what your parents look like…
It’s like watching the end of a movie without having the beginning or middle.
All you have is what you have.
I want to go to the part where the happy ending happens. Maybe this is it, maybe this is all I’ll have, is it horrible that I cling to him harder? I grip the back of his jacket with my fingers. I actually dig in, I cling to his warmth; I rest my head on his shoulder like I’m allowed to, and as we walk across the red carpet, I see my end.
Because I see the end of the carpet and I know it’s time to go up the stairs, take more pictures, and go into the gala. He’ll be talking to people, networking, and I’ll be sipping champagne.
And then I’ll go back to my lonely apartment.
What a waste of my own brain.
I hate myself sometimes.
But people need to live and eat and survive and that’s all I’m doing at this point. Even doctors had no clue what happened to me or why I lost so many years and the even crazier part, I had to get brand new ID, social security, everything because when I woke up from my coma all I knew was my name but no family was present.
How freakishly depressing.
Maybe I’m one of those people, one that nobody really cares about. Or maybe I’ve always been an orphan.
At this point, I need to just focus on the fact that I’m at one of the biggest galas of the year and I’m working. I’m here to support him, gather my paycheck, and attempt to look like his date without actually hitting on him.
My boss.
After just starting work.
Usually, I’m the one getting hit on, instead tonight, I’m the one with the dangerous thoughts, just shooting them in his direction like daggers.
Cameras are flashing everywhere, he grips my arm like he’s nervous about it so I hold still while what feels like claws dig into my skin, but that would be insanity, I’m just nervous.
He isn’t smiling.
He looks pissed.
I elbow him and smile through my teeth, whispering, “Smile.”
He looks down at me.
“I thought I was?”
“Your lips are barely moving, even when you’re talking to me.” I keep smiling and holding onto him as we walk down the red carpet, he waves, but his smile isn’t real it looks so fake that even not knowing him, I know it.
Not good for business.
Not good for networking.
Not good for any of it and the entire world is gonna see pictures of him, not to mention news channels, entertainment.
“What…” I keep smiling and lean up to whisper in his ear so it looks seductive when really I’m just petrified he’s going to be on the news in the morning for looking like a giant asshole.
“Will make you smile?”
He doesn’t smile for the cameras, but the minute I ask that, he looks down at me with a crooked, nearly delirious grin.
“I don’t think you want to know what just ran through my head.”