Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
But I can't. I love New York. I love the hustle, the no-nonsense attitude, the endless possibilities.
I always have, but I haven't thought about it in so long. I've been so busy, so distracted, so overwhelmed.
Living this tiny life. My office in the Financial District. The subway to Dad's hospital room. Three more stops and one long walk to our apartment. Rinse. Repeat.
Now that I have time…
I still can't call this freedom. But I have to admit, I do have possibilities.
I let my mind wander to easier times. Tea at the Japanese Garden in San Francisco. A bike ride across the Golden Gate Bridge. Dinner in Japantown, at that overpriced Indian place.
Shep laughing at my holy shit reaction to a super spicy dosa. I thought you could take any amount of heat.
An acting class in high school. My theater teacher applauding my monologue. Marveling at the nuance I brought to the character.
We pull into the garage. Take the elevator to Shep's floor. The penthouse, though it's technically the top two floors. The highest is only accessible via the spiral staircase.
It really does feel like a modern castle.
Here, looking at the Hudson, I almost forget I'm in the most populated city in the country. I almost forget I have no choice in this.
Shepard hangs his trench coat on a rack by the door. It's the only hint to his San Francisco side. Or maybe I've watched Vertigo too many times.
Aren't trench coats from London? Plenty of people wear them here. In early spring, when it's cool and rainy, they fit the bill.
He flips a switch. The expensive chandelier illuminates.
Footsteps move in the kitchen. "Is that you, Mr. Marlowe? Is the future Mrs. Marlowe with you?" A woman's voice asks. It reminds me of Shep's. Strict. No nonsense.
"Yes, but I'm retiring for the evening." He nods a goodbye to me. "Key will take care of you."
Key will take care of me?
"Lock manages things outside the house. Key manages the house." He motions to the light coming from the kitchen. "She'll fix your dinner. Or, if you prefer, you can order something." He turns to Key as she moves in from the hallway. "On me, of course."
Key, a woman in her thirties with a tailored dress and a blond bun, smiles wryly. "Of course, Mr. Marlowe. I would expect you to take care of your fiancée." She turns to me. "Has Mr. Marlowe readied a credit card for you?"
"Not yet." He turns to me. "After we sign the papers tomorrow."
She raises a brow. It's not like Lock. He has a certain mischievous joy—the joy of a young Shep. She's more like a current Shep. Questioning his intentions, his competence, his right to breathe the same air she does. "Papers?"
"A prenuptial agreement." He waves away her objection. "I know how you feel about them."
"You don't like them?" I ask. It doesn't suit my image of her. I know we've just met, but she seems practical. Reasonable. A man of Shep's wealth would be a fool to skip a prenup.
"Some things aren't about money." She nods good night to Shep. "But it's Mr. Marlowe's choice. He pays me to cook, not to talk about his love life."
"It doesn't stop you," Shep teases her.
"I can't help it. You give me so much to discuss." There's the slightest hint of teasing in her voice.
He chuckles. "You and Lock…"
"Aalock"—she calls his full name—"and I have to keep ourselves entertained somehow."
"Entertained and losing money?" He raises a brow.
"We never bet money." Her smile is almost dirty. Then it's not. That normal I'm ready for anything assistant smile. "What would you like, Ms. Lee?"
"Jasmine. Please," I say. "Whatever is easiest."
"Nonsense, Ms… Jasmine. What's easiest is what you'd like. If you're too tired to consider that, leave it to me. But if there is something you prefer, I'll make it happen."
"Some kind of grilled fish, maybe." Something Mom made that won't fill my stomach with pangs of nostalgia.
"Of course." She turns to Shep. "Are you sure you won't be joining us?"
"Send the food to my room." He looks to me, but he doesn't move closer. "I'll make an appointment for you. At my office. First thing tomorrow."
"No. Send it to my lawyer. I'll do it there." I press my lips together. He's already leaving.
What gives? He's been trying to talk me into adoring him all day. Now that I actually need a little comfort, he's leaving.
Maybe… if I ask… if I admit I'm terrified I'm going to wake up to the news my father is gone…
I try to find the words, but I can't. Maybe it's my pride. Maybe it's all the space between us. Maybe it's an inability to trust him after everything.
"Good night, Shep." I turn to Key.
She waves me to the dining table. Insists she'll bring tea. If I'd like to cook, fine, but she won't have any interference.