Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Just taking things one day at a time,” I add, licking a melty stream of pink ice cream before it reaches the cone.
“Well, you know if you need anything, your father and I are here to help,” she offers. “We’ve helped your sisters out quite a bit over the years, and you’ve never once asked for anything.”
It’s true.
They’ve probably dumped hundreds of thousands of dollars into Emma’s and Eden’s respective weddings as well as ponied up for the down payments on their first homes. No doubt they’re doing the same for Evie. But I’ve never been the type to ask for anything I haven’t worked for, and I never want to feel indebted to anyone.
“I appreciate it,” I say. “I really do. But I’ll figure it out.”
She marinates in that uncertain thought for a moment. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
“Mom.” I snort a chuckle. “One hundred percent. I know I made the right decision, and everything’s going to work out exactly the way it should. It always does.”
We end the call, and I imagine my mother running inside to find my father, hands on her hips as she asks, Guess what your daughter just did?
My father will probably laugh, sip his sweet tea as he rocks in his favorite chair, and let her vent until her worries and frustrations absorb into the sunroom’s floral wallpaper. He’s the opposite of her in every way, and thank goodness for that. Everyone should have someone who balances them out, someone who adores them despite being their polar opposite.
A minute later, I pay for my double scoop in a sugar cone and head for the sidewalk again, ambling home the long way with every intention of taking the most delicious of afternoon naps.
I’m four blocks from my apartment when I pass an empty City Gent magazine stand at a corner bodega. It’s stark orange and impossible to miss, and it won’t be long until those become powerhouse-red Made Man racks and West Maxwell leaves his mark all over this city.
Funny how a man can be everywhere and nowhere to be found at the same time.
I think of his niece again. And the mixture of anger and relief on his face when he spotted her. It’s strange to imagine someone so cruel caring about someone else in any capacity.
Perhaps he has a heart after all.
Laughing to myself, I shake my head.
Not a chance.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WEST
“I’m sorry, sir, but her mind is made up,” Tom says over the phone that afternoon. “And with all due respect, I can’t continue to harass her.”
I sink into my office chair, cradling the phone on my ear as I tap out a text to Scarlett asking for proof that she’s home from school.
A second later she sends me a mean-mugged selfie standing in front of the fridge.
“Did you assure her I wasn’t going to berate her?” I ask Tom.
Since this morning, I’ve read Elle’s articles more times than I can count, each time scrutinizing them from all angles. One minute I’m nodding in agreement, and the next I’m stewing at the audacity of her blatant disrespect.
I can’t decide if she’s brilliant or out of her fucking mind.
Regardless, she doesn’t get to kick the hornet’s nest and walk away without so much as a sting. She said her piece—now it’s my turn to say mine.
“Does she want money?” I ask. “I’ll pay her a goddamned consulting fee if she wants. I just want a moment of her time.”
“I don’t think it’s about money, sir,” Tom says. “I think she just wants to move on.”
“She’ll need to come back and collect her things,” I say. “Have her assistant box them up for me and send me her address.”
He pauses. “A-are you sure? Because I’m sure I can courier them there or send an intern that way. You don’t have to—”
“I insist.” I cut him off. “And, Tom?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell her I’m coming. I’d like for this to be a surprise, much like the surprise she imparted to me in my inbox this morning.”
“I won’t say a word.” His voice is marked with seriousness, and I trust he’ll keep his promise. He’s been with me since the beginning, started as a groundling and worked his way up to a supervising editorial position. Unlike some people here, Tom actually appreciates his career.
Thirty minutes later, I’m finishing up a few emails for the day when a knock at my door brings a trembling assistant with a french braid and a cardboard box.
“Here you are, Mr. Maxwell.” The young woman places Elle’s things in the middle of my desk and then stands, wide eyed and curious, as if she’s waiting to be excused.
“Thank you . . .” I feign an attempt to remember her name, but you can’t remember a name you’ve never learned.
“Leah,” she says with a wide, small-town smile.