Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
You’re very welcome. Take care of yourself.
I set down my phone and decide to get some fresh air.
Changing into sweatpants and a T-shirt, I grab my keys and step into the hallway.
“Oh, there you are.” Peter Hansel is standing near the elevator, uninvited. Again.
Who the hell keeps letting you in here?
“Are you about to go for a run to clear your mind?” he asks.
Not wanting to take his bait, I avoid looking his way and hit the down button.
“I’m heading to the West Coast for a book tour,” he says. “You know, the one that was inspired by your father’s case.”
I hit the button again.
“I did the best I could representing him,” he says. “I really did.”
“If you felt that way, you wouldn’t be harassing me years later about it.”
“I just know you’ve spent so much time looking at things from your point of view instead of the victims.”
“Nothing of value was lost when Tom Raider was murdered.” I finally look at him. “He deserved far more bullets in his head.”
“Spoken like a son who can’t see any wrong in his father.”
My jaw tightens.
“Do you know what it’s like to lose someone you love, Jameson?” he asks.
“You and I are not on a first-name basis.”
“It’s the type of pain that never heals,” he says. “The type of pain that your father inflicted when he killed Tom Raider and made his wife a widow.”
“My father didn’t kill that man.”
“You can keep believing that if you want to.” He holds out a manila envelope. “Out of fairness—and because I still care about what this has done to your family—here are the victim impact statements the state is presenting at his parole hearing.”
“I don’t need to read any of those.” I leave his hand hanging in the air. “My father is getting a new trial.”
“He’s almost out of appeals, so I doubt it.” He smirks. “But if you do somehow get one, I suggest you brace yourself for your very first loss.”
“From who?”
“You’ll see.”
I roll my eyes.
“You were a subpar lawyer when I was a child and you’re even worse now,” I say. “I hope your fiction books read better than the terrible arguments you used to make in court.”
“Jameson, I need you to listen to me.”
“I left the drawer wide open for you,” I say. “I know you saw it…I just don’t understand why you’re still lying about it.”
“Drawer?” He furrows his brow as the elevator doors glide open. “What drawer are you talking about?”
“At the crime scene.” I can tell he’s playing stupid, but he’s a terrible actor.
“That drawer was sitting in plain sight, and I thought even a half-assed lawyer would’ve been smart enough to see it.”
“Okay, look.” He starts to get on the elevator with me, but I narrow my eyes at him.
“The camera on here is currently broken,” I say. “If you want to risk getting on here with me—of all people—be my guest, but you won’t come out walking.”
“You wouldn’t dare assault me, Jameson.”
I step back, gesturing for him to try me.
“I’ll uh—” He stumbles backward. “I’ll catch the next one.”
“Good choice.”
DELIBERATE (V.):
TO CONSIDER THE FACTS, THE LAWS AND/OR OTHER MATTERS, PARTICULARLY BY MEMBERS OF A JURY, A PANEL OF JUDGES OR BY ANY GROUP INCLUDING A LEGISLATURE.
SCARLETT
It’s been two months since I last saw Jameson, and somehow, he still finds his way into my dreams and nearly every thought in between.
Despite every cute lunch date I take with Cole, or every new character’s skin I slip into, I can’t seem to shed the memory of him.
Every night in bed, I close my eyes and slide a hand between my thighs, remembering exactly where his lips touched my skin, exactly how his fingers gripped my hips.
Even yesterday, when Cole pulled me close and kissed me for the first time, all I could think was, Jameson would’ve kissed me a whole lot better than this.
And now, as I stare at my reflection in the dressing table mirror, I can almost see him standing behind me, leaning down to press his lips against the back of my neck.
“You’ll always be mine…Always.”
With a sigh, I peel off my wig and start plucking bobby pins from my hair.
The second I have six months’ worth of savings in the bank, I’m booking an appointment with a hypnotist and asking them to erase every last trace of Jameson Tate from my mind.
Knockkkk! Knockkk! Knockkkk!
“Come in!” I call toward the door. “I left my costume in the corner for you.”
“Um…I’m not here for a costume.”
I glance over as a guy in a UPS uniform steps inside, carrying a massive bouquet of long-stemmed roses.
“Are you Scarlett Winters?”
“Maybe.” I turn around to face him. “Depends on who’s asking.”
“Well, uh, if you are, I have some very beautiful flowers for you.”
A smile immediately pulls at my lips, and I reach for the bouquet before a thought stops me cold.