Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Maybe that’s where the confidence comes from. Who needs worries when money can solve all your problems?
The apartment is dark, which shouldn’t surprise me since it’s just gone 4 a.m., but she doesn’t rush to turn on the lights. Instead, she pushes a button on the wall that begins drawing the wall of curtains open wide. “Wow . . . so this is what a few mil can buy in this city? That view is something.”
We’re not that high, and not in the tallest skyscraper in the vicinity, but the views of the surrounding area are remarkable. While I stand at the window, light filters into the apartment, enough to see her slip from the coat and drape it and the scarf over the back of a leather chair. Seems we’re staying a while, so I’ll remove mine, too.
“Drink?” she asks from the kitchen.
“Sure.”
Hidden by the steel door, she hums and peeks around it at me. “Whiskey, beer, or wine? There might be scotch, but I’d need to check the cabinets.”
I’m surprised to hear the offering and turn back. “Are we drinking? Not that I’m opposed.” It’s been a long day and a longer night, so a drink might hit just right.
“We should celebrate.”
I haven’t forgotten, but her birthday hasn’t seemed like a topic she cared much about. “We should celebrate your big day.”
“Oh God, no.” Her hair swings above her shoulders from laughing. “How boring would that be if we spent our lives celebrating ourselves all the time?”
I chuckle. “Never thought of it that way.” I come to rest my hands on the counter and study her profile.
Her eyes widen when she sees something she wants, and the long lashes that frame them when she pulls a bottle from the fridge. Pursing her lips with a tilt of her head, she says, “Don’t read too much into it. I just don’t think the world revolves around me.”
I could argue she’s wrong, but I know she won’t believe me. “We hit the jackpot,” she says, waggling a bottle of champagne in her hand. Twisting the wire cage off the top, she leaves it on the counter before taking hold of the cork and removing it like a professional.
Not her first rodeo. “Like a pro,” I say. “You make it look easy.”
“I’ve opened a few bottles of champagne in my life.” Her tone is so matter-of-fact, like this is an everyday occurrence.
“To drink? It’s Bollinger. It won’t be missed?”
Setting the bottle of expensive champagne in front of me, she says, “Yes, of course, to drink. What do you think, I bathe in the stuff?” She shrugs. “It’s not a bad idea, but not on the agenda for tonight.”
“Next time.” I smirk.
She laughs. “Yes, next time. And no, it won’t be missed. It will be restocked before my dad even notices.”
I’m no champagne expert, but I feel like this bottle would be missed right away. But if she doesn’t care, I’m not going to. Let’s drink the good stuff.
“We should drink from proper glasses.” She hops onto the far counter, propping herself up to grab two crystal flutes by the stem, then lunges to land on her feet again.
“I could have gotten those down.”
Waving the flutes in front of her, she replies, “So could I. See?”
“Maybe I should call you champ?”
The glasses are set before me, and she asks, “Would that be shamp or champ?”
I fill one glass and then the other. “I’m thinking champ.”
“I’ll give it a spin, though I don’t know if I feel like a champ.”
“You are in my eyes, Champ.” I set the bottle down, then chuckle. “Yeah, that doesn’t work at all.”
I lift the glass to hers before she takes a sip, the crystal producing a sharp note when they tap. “To . . .” I search for the words that fit the occasion. I’m pretty sure what I really want to say will only scare her away. What girl wants to hear about a guy catching feelings after only a few hours? I’m sure she prefers the bad-boy type.
I’ve pulled some outrageous stunts for kicks and done plenty of shit to survive, but I’ve also worked hard to leave that behind and make a better life for myself. Getting into university changed all that. My background—deadbeat dad and absent mom—paid off when it came to getting a free ride. A sinking feeling hits my gut. I would have chosen having parents in my life over that, but I had no say in the matter.
“To us,” she fills in where I left off, like it’s a foregone conclusion. Her eyes stay locked on mine as she takes a sip like this is something that happens all the time, like it’s a given that there is an us in the fucked-up equation. I’m not even sure how I ended up in her life. Or did she end up in mine? Whatever the universe had in mind, I’m glad to be a part of the plan.