Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
If I thought about it, despite working side-by-side with her for years, there was a lot about her I likely didn't know.
"I almost never get takeout. I crave Chinese once in a blue moon, though. With this job, I don't have a ton of time to cook big meals. But I throw together a big batch of soup that I eat all week with a salad."
"I like soup."
"You know, I don't think I have ever heard a man say that before," she told me, watching me with those bright blues of hers. "It's always steak and bacon and burgers."
"Soup reminds me of school lunches when I was a kid. I was never allowed to get school-provided lunch. And I was probably the only kid who didn't just have a sandwich in a brown bag. I was always sent to school with something hot in a thermos. Pasta, chili, soup. So those things have always been nostalgic for me."
"Maybe, if I am here for a while, I can make some soup for dinner. If you would be into that."
Again, the head duck, the lack of eye-contact. It was such an oddly insecure move for her that I found myself wanting to see it gone immediately.
"I would be into that. In fact, I plan to be hungry around dinnertime this very evening. And I happen to have a lot of shit in my fridge right now that can make soup. If you think of anything else, text me a list. I can have Jules get it sent here for later."
"I can order it. Jules already does too much."
That was true.
And I felt a small stab of guilt at allowing her to do such a banal task for me.
Normally, I figured that with the insane salary Quin paid her, that it was a small task. And also that she likely just had a list saved on some app somewhere that she just hit 'check out' on whenever she thought I needed groceries.
But now, well, I was second-guessing that.
I wasn't so fucking busy that I couldn't order my own damn groceries.
It would be yet another excuse not to do paperwork.
"What time will you get back here after work?"
"Ah, if I drop by Whole Foods... probably around six-thirty. Maybe a little bit later."
"Would you feel freaked out here alone if I am a bit later than that?"
"Well, unlike you, I will lock the front door," she said, rolling her eyes as she finished her egg, moving quickly on to the fruit.
"Alright. I think I should be able to slip out around eight."
"Gives me time to get the food made."
"Before I leave today, I will shuffle the cars around so you can park in the garage. I will text you the codes to get in the garage and toss a spare for the inner garage door too."
"Perfect. How are you going to get your car back from the office?"
"I'll Uber in today. Tell them I left the office to grab a drink. They'll buy it if they even ask at all." It would depend on who was in the office. "You still have the same number, right?" I asked, reaching for my phone.
"Same one since I was fifteen," she agreed.
"If anything freaks you out at work or after, text me. Text me a location," I added, wanting to be clear. If shit went down, it would save valuable time to know where she had sent her last text from without having to wait on Nia to figure that shit out.
"Okay. I will."
"I want eye contact when you agree to that," I demanded, watching as her head lifted. "Tell me that if anything feels even slightly sketchy that you will call or, if it is not safe to call, text me with the location. I will know from the location alone that shit is going down. No need to waste valuable time on specifics if you don't have it to spare."
"I got it. And I promise," she told me, voice even.
"Listen," I said, reaching across the island to put my hand over hers, taking the briefest of seconds to notice how pale her skin looked compared to mine. "I know from experience that women don't like to think they are inconveniencing anyone. And that means they tend to wait too long to ask for help. By the time they do, it is too late. Don't be that woman. Don't be a statistic. If anything feels off, reach out. Immediately. Got it?"
To that, she sent me a soft, sweet smile I remembered. "I got it," she agreed with a nod. "Now I have to get going, or I will be late. Can you let me into Automobile Fort Knox, please?"
"Yep, let's get you going," I agreed, brushing her off when she tried to clean up the dishes.
I got her the keys, texted her the codes, got her car out, watched her drive away, jaw tight, back oddly straight.