Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
He hangs up before I can get a word in, and I spot Eliza stepping toward the baggage carousel. She slides a hand under the handle of her suitcase just as I walk over to take it from her.
“I could’ve sworn we covered this already,” I say. “Do I need to repeat the lesson?”
“No, it’s just a habit,” she replies. “I’ll try not to let it happen again, so please don’t spank me, Dad.”
“Is that your way of telling me you’re into a daddy kink?”
“What?” Her cheeks flush bright red. “I was being sarcastic.”
“I could try that for you if you’d like.”
“Seriously?” She narrows her eyes, still blushing.
“I parked downstairs.” I start rolling her luggage away before my thoughts spiral into places they definitely shouldn’t.
Eliza runs her hand along the wood grain inside my Audi as she gazes out the window.
Manhattan traffic crawls like always, but somehow, it feels good to be home.
“How do they live with all the constant noise and lights?” she murmurs. Not to me—just aloud, to herself.
A call comes through.
I can’t block it fast enough, and my system announces it anyway.
“Call from Never Answer: Batshit Crazy,” it says. “Would you like to answer?”
“No, I would not,” I mutter.
“Answering the call,” it responds—completely ignoring me.
“Oh, so your phone does work now, Harrison?” Kristin—aka the last woman I ever dated—sounds just as bitter as the day I told her it was over.
“I didn’t mean to answer,” I say flatly.
“Then why not just block me if you hate me so much?”
Because the last time I did that, you showed up at my condo.
“I don’t hate you, Kristin,” I say. “Now’s not a good time for me, though.”
“I miss you,” she says. “And regardless of how badly things ended—most of it was your fault, by the way—I think we should meet up and talk. We were a moment, we were magic, we were—”
“Toxic.” I interrupt her, refusing to let her rewrite our story with a rose-tinted pen.
“We were not. Your parents loved me.”
“They loved your family’s money,” I say. “They didn’t really know you.” Just like they don’t really know me.
“Well, I’ve had lunch with them every weekend this month. And they think it’s a great idea for us to get back together—especially with all the events they’re hosting this summer.”
“The fact that you think hanging out with my family is a selling point is exactly why we’re not together anymore,” I say. “I’ll pass.”
“I figured you’d say that.” She scoffs. “So I’ll wait until you get home. This conversation deserves an in-person touch.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m inside your condo, sitting in your living room,” she says. “See you whenever you get here.”
What the hell? “How did you get past Charlie?”
“He called in sick today.” There’s a smile in her voice. “Can’t wait to see you.”
I end the call far later than I should’ve.
“Sounds like you’re the one who needs lessons,” Eliza says, glancing at me with a smirk. “Want some help?”
I turn up the radio.
TWELVE
ELIZA
The cologne Harrison’s wearing is different from what he wore in Tennessee, and it’s beyond intoxicating.
It’s spicy and woodsy, the kind that makes you want to lean into his chest and inhale it for hours while he runs his fingers through your hair.
Well—if someone were attracted to him, that is.
They’d think that.
Not me.
He pulls into a reserved parking space with his name on the placard. Glancing to the left, I realize the entire row is filled with luxury cars—and every spot bears his name.
“Do you really make this much money training women to be Stepford-wife-adjacent?”
“You’re technically my first client in that department,” he says, putting the car in park. “And no. Most of my money comes from a business I run.”
“What business? Stocks? Something you started yourself?”
“Well, look at that.” He turns to face me, a cocky grin tugging at his lips. “You do know how to hold a civil conversation. I’m impressed.”
He steps out without answering the question, and before I can open my door, he’s already there—pulling it open for me.
“I’m not allowed to open my own door now?”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t when you’re with me,” he says simply. “It’s a manners thing.”
“Oh…”
“Yes.” That grin again. “Oh.”
“Welcome back, Mr. Jones.” A security guard approaches with a cart. “Do you have any luggage you’d like me to take upstairs?”
“Yes, Harold. Thank you.” He pops the trunk, then gestures toward me. “This is Eliza Hart. She’s the sister of a very good friend of mine, and she’ll be staying with me for a while.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Harold says with a polite tip of his hat, already shifting focus to our bags.
Harrison motions for me to follow him to the elevator. As soon as the doors slide shut, he stares at me.
He looks like he’s about to say something sharp—another snide remark about something I’ve done wrong. But no words come.