Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
I cock my head, studying the sculpture in the corner. “What is that giant rock supposed to be?” Sara’s parents are clearly art collectors. The penthouse is littered with pieces, each one worth more than everything I own.
“A giant rock.” He wanders to the glass railing, leaning his forearms against it. “I’ve always loved this view.”
Cold nips at my bare skin, but I welcome it, following Garrett to the edge of the glass railing to look out on countless buildings. From far below, a steady stream of cars and honks carries. Whether it’s two in the afternoon or two in the morning, I doubt it changes much—this city buzzes at all hours. Even living in Jersey felt different. “This place is insane.”
“Yeah, the Waltons are filthy rich.”
“And what are the Harringtons?”
He grins. “Slightly less filthy.”
“Where’s your home?”
Garrett leans over the railing and points. “Eight over, but you can’t see it from this angle.”
I whistle and say in a singsong voice, “Someone’s got a trust fund.”
He chuckles, unfazed by my teasing. “Almost lost it after I dropped out of law school.”
“Dropped out?” My breath hitches. “Wikipedia neglected to mention this life event. Harvard?”
“Yeah. My dad wasn’t too happy about the move. You know how it goes.”
“Trust funds and Harvard? Oh yeah, totally get it. We are on the same wavelength, you and me.” The way things are going, I’ll be paying for a degree I’m not using until I’m shopping for my own room at Bonny Acres.
He flashes me a sheepish look. “He came around, when he saw how hard I was working for Richard.”
“Why’d you want to make the switch?”
“To property development?” His focus drifts over the rooftops. “Buildings make a statement. There’s nothing conceptual in them. All the time and effort you put into your job turns into a pile of brick and mortar. It’s satisfying.”
I bite my tongue against the urge to ask how satisfying it is to tear down an old building. “Where does Uncle Richard live?”
“You know you can just call him Richard, right?”
“I should. I’m not a big fan anymore.” When Garrett said the man was stepping in to deal with the mess I’d made of his project, I should have known our cause was already lost.
“He has a penthouse a few blocks from here, and a penthouse near our Philadelphia office. And then there’s the house outside Polson Falls that he’s having renovated. It’s up on a hill and has a barn for horses and everything. He plans on retiring there.”
“Really? When he could be out in the Hamptons?”
“He’s not a fan of the ocean. Prefers the quiet, small-town vibe.”
“But not that small.”
“Everyone benefits from the added amenities.” Garrett peers around us. “You know, some of these buildings are the original prewar era?”
He’s shifting the conversation away from Polson Falls, but I don’t resist. It’s nice to take the night off from our feud. “I did not, but it doesn’t surprise me.”
“Yeah. This one is over a hundred years old—1913. There are only twenty-six units.” Light from the sconces catch his eyes, and I see the sparkle in them as they drift over the exterior walls. “Obviously, they’ve gone through extensive remodels and upgrades. All the units have been modernized. Well, except for 10-D. The woman who owned it spent a fortune in the ’80s on a French neoclassical designer. There’s even a ballroom. She died a few years ago, and they’ve had a hell of a time trying to sell. Everyone loves the architecture, but no one wants to live in it.” He snorts. “Not my taste, but I have to admire it.”
“So you do care about history.”
The muscle in his jaw ticks.
I lift my hands in surrender, still gripping my drink. “You’re right, Sam. We haven’t clocked back in yet.”
“Which one’s Sam again?”
“The sheepdog. I’m the wolf.”
“Why do you get to be the wolf?”
“Because wolves are generally sexier, and well …” I wave my free hand in front of myself, as if making a presentation.
“Point made.” He sucks back a gulp of his drink. Bourbon, I learned. That’s his third one since I met him. How many does it take before he’s not in control of his inhibitions? Because I think I’m getting close to reaching my “whatever happens, happens” threshold.
“Earlier, in the library, what did you mean when you said I showed up to this party looking like that?”
His gaze glides over me, his mouth working on the answer as if weighing whether to give it. “Like you dressed to kill a man.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I smile through a sip, as my pulse races.
“Good, because it was meant to be one.” A flare of heat flashes in his eyes.
When I strolled in here tonight, my wish was to watch Bill crumble with regret, but now I’m far more interested in my new victim.