Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
She frowns slightly. “And then all the socialites in the city bring out their claws, thinking they’ve found a new meal ticket.”
“Yep,” I say miserably.
“You know, most men would kill to have all the most attractive women throwing themselves at their feet.”
“I’m not most men,” I say passionately. “When I find a woman, I want to care about her, truly care about her. I want to feel something, something real. And not to sound like a dick, but I don’t think I’m going to find that with a woman who’s only with me for my money.”
“The curse of wealth,” Carmen teases lightly. “That was nice, Jax. What you just said.”
I tilt my head at her.
“You said when you find a woman. Normally you say if. It makes me wonder if you’re really as hopeless as you want people to believe.”
Her words crash into me with the force of the truth, slamming hard.
Because she’s right.
No matter how many times I tell myself this mystery woman doesn’t exist, there’s always a part of me – a deep unfathomable part – that whispers she’s waiting for me, she’s out there. I just have to be patient.
“I might have another idea,” Carmen says. “You’d be doing me a big favor.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “So first you stand me up. Now you want a favor.”
“Hey, I didn’t stand you up.” She grins. “I gave you one week’s notice.”
Waving a hand, I say, “Okay, what’s your idea?”
“You know my new assistant.”
“I know of her,” I say, wondering where this is going. “But I don’t think I’ve laid eyes on her once since she’s been here.”
“Well, that’s partly why I’m going to propose this plot.”
“Plot?” I laugh. “I didn’t realize we were in a regency drama. What the hell are you talking about?”
“There’s something about this girl. I don’t know… it’s like she reminds me of myself when I was younger. I could see how nervous she was at the interview, but she was so heartfelt, so genuine. So I trusted my gut and I’ve been working her hard ever since, and she hasn’t disappointed. For solo tasks, when they don’t involve other people, she’s great. She really excels, despite her lack of a college education.”
I scoff. “There are smart people and idiots in college, just like in the real world. It’s not the be-all and end-all.”
She nods. “I agree. But even so, I’m surprised by how well she’s taken to the work. But she’s just so shy. I’ve been trying to tough-love her out of her shell, but I think it’s time I did something drastic.”
“You’re going to say it, aren’t you?” I groan when the magnitude of her words hit me. “You’re really going to suggest that—”
“Take Jessie to the party as your date. Let her mingle. Let her be seen. And maybe then she’ll realize she’s not going to burst into flames every time somebody so much as looks at her.”
I massage the bridge of my nose, tightness coiling in my forehead. “The whole reason I take you to these functions is that you’re so good with these sorts of people. You know all the right things to say, in all the right places. What benefit do I get out of this?”
She leans forward, smirking. “It means you don’t have to go alone, triggering all that annoying tabloid stuff you hate so much. It means you don’t have to find another date, which I know you’d hate. Surely this is preferable to that?”
I return her gaze, unable to stop a smirk of my own from claiming my lips.
“Why do I feel like you’re about to say checkmate?” I joke.
“Is that a yes?”
I sigh. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I? Yes, you madwoman. The answer’s yes.”
Chapter Three
Jessie
One of the downsides of getting a job at such a prestigious company is the subway ride home. I live on the far, far side of the city, with my aunt in a little two bedroom apartment.
As I walk down the dark streets, I ignore the music pumping from houses, the sound of a cat screeching, tires squealing on concrete.
The elevator’s still busted, so I drag my weary body up the stairs, the light flickering on and off, as though matching the staccato of my heartbeat.
There’s always something so deflating about returning from the office to the apartment, as though being in that neighborhood – with its clean perfectly paved streets, with not a single doodle of graffiti insight – gives me the right to dream myself into that position.
But the truth is we’re going to be living here for a while longer. Unless Aunt Claire or I miraculously win the lottery.
Aunt Claire’s on the couch when I walk in, her latest cross stitching project in her lap. She’s still wearing her waitress uniform, as she often does when she finishes one of her long shifts.