Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“You have the best job ever!”
Miller muttered, “My ex didn’t think so.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“He’s a plastic surgeon.”
“Ew.”
“It’s not all butt lifts and boob jobs. He also does pro bono work with burn victims.”
“I regret my ‘ew.’ That’s pretty awesome.”
“It is, and he’d be the first to tell you that.”
Miller started walking again. His home was really nice and spotlessly clean, but it felt like no one lived there. The blank walls were white, and there was hardly any furniture.
We walked halfway down a long hall and stepped into a room that was something else entirely. The walls and ceiling were midnight blue, which matched the large area rug. In addition to a stylish black couch, it contained a printer, a desk chair, and a chrome and glass workstation, which held three huge monitors. It was all very sleek and modern, and Hubert Humphrey looked totally out of place on the couch.
“This is the office-slash-guest room,” Miller told me. “The sofa folds out into a bed, but I’ve fallen asleep on it many times and thought it was perfectly comfortable as-is.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been in a room with no windows.”
“This side of the building butts right up against the one next door. It’s perfect for work, though. There are no distractions, and I don’t have to worry about glare on my screens.”
I dropped my stuff next to the alligator and hurried over to the wall directly across from the doorway. It held a cluster of amazing drawings. Half of them were of a post-apocalyptic landscape, and the other half were sketches of a strong-looking woman with long, white hair. She was dressed in combat boots, cargo pants, and a cropped bomber jacket, and she was holding some sort of huge, futuristic weapon.
I asked, “Did you draw these?”
“I did.”
“You’re stunningly talented!”
He started to pluck the drawings off the wall. “Not according to my art director. I met with her this afternoon, and she called these ideas trite. I have to start all over again.”
I turned to him and asked, “What does trite mean?”
“Dull, boring, unoriginal.”
“Was she high? Those drawings are phenomenal!”
“They’re well-rendered, but she’s right. They look a bit like the last game I worked on, and we want something fresh for this next one. The good news is that we’re at the beginning of the design process, so I still have time to get a clue.”
He dropped the drawings into a drawer and shut it. “I still think they’re beautiful,” I said.
“Thanks. I guess they are, but they’re still not good enough.” He changed the subject by pointing at a closed door and saying, “There’s a half-bath through there, and I’ll show you where the shower is.”
With that, he was on the move again. I scooped up my stuff and hurried after him.
His bedroom was directly across the hall from the office. It was a huge room, which contained a king-size bed with gray linens, one nightstand, and one chair. Nothing else.
I followed him into the adjoining gray and white bathroom. Like the rest of the house, it was blank and pristine.
He opened a cabinet and placed a white towel and a wash cloth on the empty vanity. Then he grabbed a multipack of toothbrushes, popped one out of its plastic shell, and handed it to me as he asked, “Need anything else?”
“I’m all set.”
“Okay. Join me in the kitchen when you’re done.” With that, he left the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.
I sat down on the closed toilet lid and let my shoulders slump as I shut my eyes. The last two days had been beyond exhausting, and I needed to catch my breath.
But after a minute, I made myself get up and turn on the shower. I didn’t want to take so long in here that he started to wonder what I was doing in his bathroom.
Once I was clean and dressed, I joined him in the kitchen, where six takeout boxes were neatly arranged on the island. Beside them were several serving utensils, two white, shallow bowls, two sets of chopsticks, and a single fork.
As he started to fill one of the bowls with rice, I said, “The fork’s for me, isn’t it?”
“You also have the option of chopsticks.”
“But you assumed I wouldn’t know how to use them.”
“I never said that.”
“It was implied with the fork.” I picked up the chopsticks and used them to pluck a single grain of rice from the bowl. “While it’s true that I’d never set foot outside of Idaho before yesterday, I always dreamed of a bigger world than my tiny hick town. That’s why I’m fluent in French and Spanish, read travel books for fun, and taught myself to use chopsticks when I was eight.”
“That’s impressive. I didn’t learn to use chopsticks until I was in college, and I only speak one and a half languages.”