Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
As I am talking, my cab appears and pulls up in a neat hiss of brakes. The driver tips his head in acknowledgment.
“That’s my cab,” I say. “I have to go. Let’s grab a coffee when I get back and catch up.”
“I’d like that,” Betty says. She catches my elbow. “Be careful, ok?”
“Always,” I say with a grin.
She looks like she is going to say more, but the cab driver honks his horn impatiently, and she nods and lets me go. I get into the cab and give the driver Sheldon’s address. We set off, and the city moves past us in a lovely kaleidoscope of color. I rest my hand against the window, letting the cool glass press against my skin as I watch as the streets narrow, trees arch overhead, and pedestrians hurry along the sidewalks.
I wonder what got into Betty back there, telling me to be careful.
She probably just meant it in a way like I would say take care to a friend. I’m sure she didn’t mean to be so dramatic. I let the moment pass, trying to focus on the day ahead. Between Betty and Sheldon, maybe today will be the day I can let Paris become a distant memory and nothing more.
It’s unlikely, but a girl can hope, right?
His apartment building is quiet when I arrive, its red brick façade warm in the morning light. Iron balconies line the upper floors, curling and twisting like delicate filigree. I ring the bell for Sheldon’s apartment, and his voice comes over the intercom.
“It’s me, Jo.”
“Second floor. Come on up, both doors are open,” he says.
The door in front of me buzzes, and I pull it open and step inside. I am a little bit surprised that Sheldon doesn’t live in a building with a doorman, but other than that small detail, this building screams expensive. The floors are polished wood, the elevator doors gleam, and once they open, I see the whole elevator is mirrors, and there is not even one smear on them. I’ve become spoilt living in a mansion. This is actually a lot different to the block of flats I’ve lived in back home in England, where the corridors were grubby and the elevators almost never worked.
I step out of the elevator and see Sheldon’s front door. I remember he said both doors were open, so I test the handle and the door opens. I go inside and immediately notice the luxurious scent of sandalwood, the way the sunlight filters through sheer curtains onto a Persian rug that looks like it will be impossibly rich and soft underfoot.
Sheldon is already waiting in the sitting area. He is perched in an armchair, and on the low table in front of him are two porcelain teacups beside a matching pot. Steam is curling lazily from the teapot’s spout. Sheldon is dressed casually, a dark sweater over a collared shirt with jeans. His hair looks like it is still tousled from sleep, despite the fact that it is almost noon. To be honest, it looks like he had a rough night of drinking.
“Hi,” I say as I walk further into the room.
“Jo,” he says, standing. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“Of course,” I reply.
He reaches out for me, and we have a quick hug, then he gestures for me to sit down. I settle into the armchair across from him. Sheldon pours tea from the teapot into the two cups. The aroma of the tea is comforting, reminding me of home.
“Milk? Sugar?” Sheldon asks, glancing up at me.
“Just milk, please,” I say. I am curious, and I decide to nudge him along. “You said you had something important to discuss with me?”
“Yes, I do,” he says, pouring a little milk into each cup. “But let’s begin with the tea first. Polite conversation first. Then we’ll discuss the important part.”
I pick up my cup and take a careful sip of the tea, enjoying the subtle flavors. I let myself relax into the space. Sheldon moves with the ease of someone entirely confident in his surroundings, placing his own cup on the table and folding his hands.
“I hear you have recently returned from Paris,” he begins casually, though I can feel the undertone of curiosity. “Axel Rhodes and you vacationing together now? That’s … unexpected.”
“I know. It’s not a combination you would expect,” I say with a smile. “But it wasn’t a vacation. It was business. We went to see an expert about a part of the restoration project.”
It’s a lie, but not really. I have made it sound like I needed help from another restorer, but I haven’t explicitly said that.
Sheldon raises an eyebrow. “You’re a terrible liar, Jo,” he says. “People who need help with restorations come to you, not the other way around.”
He doesn’t sound offended that I lied to him, but I feel guilty. I decide to tell him the truth. He is my half-brother after all, and we have already eliminated both him and his mom from our investigation.