Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Her lips are a fine white line. “So you don’t want your job back. That’s what you’re saying.”
“Not even a little. If you really want to do me a favor, don’t come near me again.”
“Fine.” And she too stomps off. Holy hell.
I let the door close and take a deep breath, head back to the reception counter. What a day. What a life.
“You told her,” says Tessa with a smile that’s all sharp teeth. I really like her.
“Didn’t know you were getting a floor show when they hired me, did you?” I laugh with all of the self-consciousness inside of me. “Anyway.”
Meanwhile, Leif has gotten up from where he’s been tattooing some dude’s shoulder and wanders my way. There’s a strange sort of expression on his face. One I can’t read.
“What?” I ask.
He doesn’t touch me on account of wearing gloves, but he leans in until our faces are close together. Until it’s just me and him and nothing else exists. My foolish heart gives a weird little jolt at the nearness.
“I’m going to hug you later,” he says.
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“That was very fight club of you,” he says in a voice little more than a whisper. Just for the two of us. “You didn’t back down or run away. And you didn’t let her get away with anything or put her shit on you.”
I shrug. It’s hard to think with him so close.
“I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, I think,” I say, keeping my voice equally low. My eyes get suspiciously wet at his praise. Though it has been an emotional day. Which just goes to show that I can explain away anything given half a chance. What a superpower.
“No problem.”
“No problem,” I agree, only I’m about as wrong as you can get. Because there is a problem. A huge one. And it’s getting bigger and messier by the day.
“You’re dressed up,” is the first thing Leif says, his eyes wide. He sets his motorbike helmet on the side table, and his leather jacket is hung over the back of one of my dining room chairs. “Wow.”
“This is a momentous occasion.”
“It is? I was going to ask if you wanted to come to the bar for the regular Saturday evening giant-Bloody-Mary-with-lobster-roll combo. But I’m sensing you already have plans.” He accepts a glass of champagne, his gaze still roving all over me. There’s a mix of pleasure and surprise on his face and I can’t help but preen just a little.
Truth be known, the plunging neckline on my ankle-length black silk gown is rather beguiling. I bought it for a New Year’s Eve party a few years back and it still fits okay. Tonight just struck me as being a smoky eyes, neutral lips, and hair blown out kind of occasion. A time for thinking and drinking and dancing. So as soon as I got back from my divorce attorney’s office, that’s what I did. My feet are bare because comfort matters, but my toenails are painted black to match. Harry Styles is on the stereo, I have a buzz happening, and all is well.
“You know,” I say, holding my champagne high. Not my first glass, either. God help my liver. “People put all this effort into celebrating weddings, yet they don’t put even half the energy into observing a divorce.”
He raises a brow. “It’s official?”
“Signed the papers this afternoon.”
“Huh.” He clinks his glass against mine. “You didn’t tell me that was today.”
“I wasn’t sure how I felt about it until now.”
Nothing from him.
“I was thinking of doing a bit of crafting with the certificate when it arrives. Some flowery stamps, maybe,” I say. “A little glitter. Really make it special, you know? Bring out the love and joy inherent in the document.”
Still nothing from him.
“I am twenty-seven years old and divorced,” I say, testing the words. “I am a single woman once again.”
He sips the champagne. “Yes you are. You’re finally free. Is ‘congratulations’ the right thing to say?”
“Sure. Divorce is about two people bravely committing to the romantic idea that they can make it on their own. It’s quite empowering really.”
“Then congratulations, Anna.”
“Thank you. I’m glad it’s over.”
And he’s being so damn cautious. It’s right there in his wary gaze. “I bet you are.”
“I’m not going to burst into tears or something,” I say. “There’s no need to look so scared. Out of all of the emotional trauma I’ve experienced this year, tonight actually feels like a good thing.”
“I don’t mind. Cry if you want or need to. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not afraid of you.” He downs half of the glass of champagne. “You know, this isn’t half bad.”
“Glad you approve. I thought if we were going to celebrate, then really only French champagne would do.”
A small smile.
“I’m okay, Leif. I promise.”
“You’ve been through a lot of shit.”