Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
"That's so sweet. Yeah, I think it's a good idea. Are you sure I can't bring anything?"
"Nothing, darling. Just your sweet little self."
"Okay. So, what does 'nothing formal' mean?" Angie asked.
"It means you can dress however you want. Casual."
"What are you going to wear?" Casual in Angie's world meant blue jeans or shorts. But she didn't think Mrs. Rule's idea of casual was the same.
"I'm going to wear a wrap-dress. I've had it for years but it's a classic. It has good lines . . . and I feel really good in it. I'm still at that stage in the relationship where I worry over these things."
Angie heard the excitement in the other woman's voice. "Okay, I'll wear a sundress then. How's that?"
"That sounds fine, darling. I know you'll be adorable. I think Courtney mentioned she's going to wear something along the same lines. Now do you remember how to get to the house?"
"Yes, ma'am, I'm sure I'll be able to find it."
Chapter Nine
The rest of the week dragged for Angie. Work was exhausting, and every spare minute she had, she worried about the decision she was going to have to make when Damian returned.
She pretty much already knew that she wanted to move in with him. But she wasn't thrilled about quitting her job. She needed to stand on her own two feet, to make her own money. If something happened to them, if they broke up, she didn't want to be left out in the cold with no income and no place to live.
It occurred to her that she might offer him a compromise. Maybe during the week she could stay at her apartment, but on her days off, she could come stay with him. It wasn't the best idea, but it was all she could come up with. It wasn't really any different than the routine they'd already fallen into, but they'd never acknowledged it out loud.
She held on to the belief that the suggestion might appease him but the text messages she'd received from him during the week made her realize he wouldn't go for the idea.
His first had come the morning after he'd left. Slept like shit.
She'd sent back a reply: I'm sorry. Mattress uncomfortable?
It was fine.
She keyed in a quick response. I'm sure it's difficult to be away from home.
His response came back instantaneously. It's difficult to be away from you.
Angie read his response and heat bloomed through her veins and in that moment, she decided not to play any more games. I miss you.
He hadn't answered, but she figured that he'd either been called away by his business dealings or maybe he thought that his feelings had already been explained. And they had. She knew he missed her.
The next morning his text was more abrasive but no less disconcerting to her. Why don't you quit that fucking job and catch a flight up here?
Angie stared at the screen while the blood pumped furiously through her veins. She stalled, not knowing how to answer. Seconds turned into minutes and finally, she keyed, I can't.
She hadn't heard from him since.
On Saturday night after work, Angie went home and showered and changed clothes before heading to the Rule household. She'd splurged on a spray-tan the day before, and she felt pretty good in her ankle-length summer sundress and sandals. She'd forgotten what it was like to wear color; leaving the black behind almost felt as if she'd come out of mourning.
When she arrived, the door was opened by a man she recognized. He was the same man who'd pulled Courtney from the last party she'd attended, and there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he was one of Damian's brothers. With the door wide, he stared at her on the threshold and raised a single eyebrow. A stream of shock slid down her spine. The resemblance was uncanny. Both of these Rule men were tall, dark, and undeniably handsome. They both had dark, wavy hair and their skin tone was almost swarthy, as if they belonged to the great American melting pot of ethnicity.
"Hi," she said, almost stumbling over the word as he continued to stare down at her.
He paused in his perusal, and then pushed the door wide. "Come in."
"Thanks."
As she stepped over the threshold and looked around, he said from behind her, "You belong to Damian."
She stopped short and turned to face him. "I don't really belong to anybody."
"Right."
Before she had time to answer, his mother sailed up with a smile and a champagne glass dangling from her fingers. "Angie, darling." The older woman leaned in and gave Angie an embracing hug that threatened to slosh the liquid from her glass. Angie smiled and hugged her back. "I see you've met my middle son, Nick."
"Oh. Not really." Angie faced the man again and held out her hand, hoping she didn't appear to be as awkward as she felt. "Angie Ross."