Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
She doesn’t answer, just stares at me in astonishment as dust settles around her like a shroud. It is as if there is a time delay between me speaking and it computing in her brain, because she suddenly reanimates. She coughs once, straightens, and wipes her hands on her jean-clad thighs. Then she speaks, her voice low but steady, edged with something I can’t place.
“Go away. I’m not selling,” she mutters.
Fuck! That voice. My jaw tightens, a flicker of heat sparking in my chest, not just anger now but something else, something electric. She’s not what I expected, and that pisses me off even more. A ray of sunshine bursts through the window. I’m far from poetic, but it seems as if we are both frozen in the shining motes of dust. Like a painting. We’ll live forever in this moment.
But she couldn’t let it be. She cocks her head aggravatingly and drops a question into the strangely beautiful stillness.
Chapter
Five
LAUREN
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mqFLXayD6e8
-that don’t impress me much-
“Who are you, anyway?” I ask, my voice rasping through the dust still clogging my throat.
The man in the doorway lets out a heavy sigh, like I’m the inconvenience here.
“Your neighbor,” he says, clipped and curt. “Manor next door. I presume you’re the American granddaughter.” His hand slides into his pocket, casual, like he owns the damn place already.
“You presume right,” I mutter, brushing more grime off my jeans.
My eyes flick up to him, and—fuck, I try not to notice, but it’s impossible. He’s stupidly handsome, towering in this cramped, dilapidated shoebox of a cottage, larger than life in a way that makes the walls feel like they’re closing in. A sheen of sweat glints across his forehead, dark hair falling in waves, and those eyes—icy gray, sharp as glass, the most gorgeous I’ve ever seen—cut into me.
Too bad he’s dripping with arrogance. It’s so thick I choke on it and feel a sudden and great irritation. I glance at the collapsed cabinet behind me—splintered wood, teacups shattered, magazines splayed like a hoarder’s wet dream. Grandma would’ve broken every record on Hoarders, I’m convinced of it now. Piles of towering junk, a maze of crap I can’t imagine ever sorting through. My mood tanks and depression slams back, heavy and familiar. I just want him gone and this place not falling apart with every step I take.
Apparently, these are all too much to ask for.
“I’ll explain again,” my impossibly overbearing neighbor says, stepping closer, his shiny boots narrowly missing a cracked wooden duck. “I want to buy your land and this cottage. You probably don’t realize it yet, but it’s a bitch to maintain property in a foreign land; property taxes, council bills, sewage payments, agency fees, squatters moving in—especially if you’re living far away. I’d be happy to take it off your hands. The market value’s decent, but I’m sure you know that. But since I was fond of being neighbors with your grandmother for so long, I’m prepared to double the price. Even with inheritance tax, you’d walk away with a fat chunk of dollars.”
I stare at him, my jaw tight. How can he not comprehend that I am totally not in the mood to hear or process anything he’s spewing, which to my irritated brain sounds like a whole load of rubbish?
That is because he is so full of himself.
I bet life is easy for him living in that lovely big manor, without any money problems, and having a whole bunch of servants running to and fro, seeing to his every need. I experience a feeling very close to hatred, if not hatred itself. I can see him issuing harsh orders to his poor, wide-eyed minions who shake and shiver with fear. It’s not a pretty picture. I stare at the odious man as the promise of cash bangs around in my head. Double, double… he’s repeated this now twice.
Hmm… My eyes dart desperately around at the carnage surrounding me.
Part of me knows I should be, at least, tempted. It would be a normal reaction in a sane person. Cash like that could get me out of this dump and fix everything back home, but something in me snaps. A fierce, irrational ‘no’ claws up my throat. I want to chase this insensitive brute off with a broom, scream him out of here.
“No,” I say sharply, and I’m happy to note my voice sounds strong and final. Maybe tomorrow, after waking up to a rat or something, I’ll change my mind, but for now, no. Turning away from him, I pretend to poke through the wreckage around me, hoping he’ll take the unsubtle hint and go away. But of course, the impervious bully doesn’t. He doesn’t budge at all, just stands there, and my annoyance flares hotter.
“You won’t get anyone else willing to take this property off your hands for that price,” he says, voice now edged with displeasure.