Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I sipped my wine. Held the taste in my mouth for a moment before swallowing. 1961 La Mission Haut-Brion. A lingering finish on my tongue. Success went down smooth. “Are you giving the building to their foundation?”
He nodded without answering. Cut a piece of steak. “Tomorrow, can you get with Jillian? Look over the foundations endowments this year. See if you agree with where they are going.”
Jillian. I hid my disdain of the suggestion behind a polite smile. Though, in the scheme of Activities To Perform With Jillian, earmarking BSX’s millions sounded like an enjoyable activity. “Sure. I can prepare you a summary of the organizations and the impact—”
He waved off the offer before taking a sip of wine. “That’s not necessary. As long as you’re happy, I’ll be happy. What’d you do today?”
An abrupt change of conversation. Typical of Brant, yet I felt thrown in the spotlight, on the chopping block for execution. “Ran errands. Slept.” I read in an article once that liars elaborate. I believed it. My tongue was itching to get creative.
He reached over. Gently touched the top of my arm, a habitual gesture, one I loved. A mini-connection in our love life. “Sounds nice.”
“Maybe you can take off tomorrow. Spend the day in bed with me.”
An abrupt head shake. “Not a chance. I’m close to breaking the battery capabilities of Onyx down to a fifth of current levels. Which could mean—”
“That you’re brilliant,” I interrupted with a smile.
He looked up. “That I’m lucky.”
I shot him a wry look, and reached across the table, spearing a piece of his meat and bringing it to his lips. “Promise me that after you crack the battery issue that you’ll celebrate with me. Give me two days of Brant, wherever I want to take you.”
“I promise.” He took the food offering, pulling it into his mouth and chewing, settling back in his chair as the tuxedoed waiter approached.
A month later, he created a battery slimmer than the closest competitor by half, one that would run for nine days without charging. I planned the vacation. Booked the house. But we didn’t go. And I understood.
I was not a normal individual. I knew that. I used to be quirky. It used to be cute. I now think, when I brush my hair in the morning… when I take the time to confront my reflection and stare into my eyes… I think I was just lonely. Lonely and desperate and wanting to be held and loved and desired. Maybe that was normal. Maybe it was the ways in which I moved towards that goal what made me odd.
I sat on Lee’s card for a week. Tucked it into the frame of my mirror. Eyed it while applying mascara and lipstick. Stared at it as I brushed my teeth and flossed.
When I closed my eyes at night, I thought of him. When my hand stole underneath the covers and pressed hard against the ache between my legs, I thought of him. I watched the sunrise over my lawn as I sipped coffee and thought about hiring him to cut it. Then thought of all of the ways this would crash to the ground.
I shouldn’t call. But I couldn’t not call. I couldn’t stay away. You don’t understand.
But when I did call, he didn’t answer. And had no voicemail. I waited a week. Called again. The third week, his phone was disconnected. I grew frantic, then grateful over the obstacle, then frantic. I wanted him; I needed him. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I needed another fill of his cock. I grew obsessed, yet could find no hint of him. The harder I looked, the less I found.
So I took some time off. Forced my mind off the search for Lee and focused my attention on Brant. Planned vacations, spent more time at his house. We went to New Zealand. Bought a house in Hawaii. Shelled our own oysters in Key West. I tried to forget Lee. Tried to find parts of him in Brant. Failed miserably at both.
Called him again and this time his phone rang. Week seven or eight. Still no voicemail. I listened to the phone ring until it died. Then I gave stalking a try instead.
Four months after our first meeting, I found him.
Chapter 25
1 YEAR, 8 MONTHS AGO
“What are you doing here?” He came to a stop beside his truck, flipped his keys slowly in his hand as his eyes held mine. The man was not afraid of eye contact. Brant’s eyes were constantly on the move, following his mind. This man’s eyes glued and rooted me in place, his focus unnerving.
“I saw your truck. Thought I’d say hi.”
“Just driving by?” His eyes flicked over the street. Found my car, then returned to my face. “Doesn’t seem like your neighborhood.”