Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I stepped into the elevator, and after putting in my code, my finger paused over the button for three. I remembered I hadn’t gotten my mail that day. I could ask Ken to bring it up, but I hit the lobby button.
I had my mail in hand, and I was about to return to the lobby when I heard the noises. A door burst open, not from the front lobby where I now stood, but behind me somewhere. My feet moved first. I didn’t think as I headed back to the mail area. That back elevator was close by, and as I rounded the exercise room, I saw the men.
Five of them. All tall. They weren’t talking. They reminded me of the men from the restaurant, their hard jawlines set in stone. They were clearly no-nonsense, and as one moved aside, his jacket opened, and I saw a gun in a holster under his arm.
The back elevator opened, and two of the men rushed toward it. I held my breath.
My feet quickened. I clutched my mail in a tight grip, almost squishing it into a ball.
“Clear,” one of the men announced.
Someone else spoke on the other side of the man I could see. They filed one by one into the elevator, leaving only the one with his back to me. He glanced behind him before he joined them, saying the word, “Clea—” But as he saw me, the word died in his throat.
I wanted to see.
The elevator was closing.
I hurried up. Who were they?
The man stepped inside. He moved, trying to block me, but I saw their faces.
It was the men from the restaurant. My feet planted, and my body teetered forward before finding balance again. I could only stare.
There was the leader. He stood against the back wall, holding up another man by the arm.
I was locked in, staring back at Sia’s mystery man. I couldn’t help but note the irony. She’d given up on him—and was now probably writhing underneath my neighbor—just as he appeared.
Once again, he was dressed as the others—black jackets, black shirts, and slacks—but he was different. I’d never heard him speak, but I knew he was the alpha. He was strong, authoritarian, and somehow I knew he was intelligent. A darkness began swirling in me, filling me up. I didn’t know where it came from, and I couldn’t make sense of it, but it was addicting. My blood began to buzz, and my heart picked up its pace. I couldn’t look away. His eyes narrowed, and he stared right back at me as the doors started to close.
I moved forward again. I wanted to see more. Just before the doors closed, I glanced down and saw the pool of blood at his feet.
The doors closed. I stepped back to watch.
The elevator stopped on the floor above Jake’s.
Mrs. Sailer,
I enjoyed your email, and yes, we’d love to have you back on the team. Your column position was filled last year, so unfortunately, we’ll have to bring you in on an assignment-based capacity until more openings occur. Please send me any ideas you have, and we can proceed from there. I’m excited to get in touch and talk further.
Sincerely,
Tina Gais
Editor-in-Chief
Onlooker Online Magazine
I read that email once, then again, and a third time. I’d received it this morning, and I was trying to create a list of ideas, but found myself going back to read it all over again. There was no mention of Liam’s death, what I’d been through, or why they’d had to fill my position. Yep. No word on how they’d promised I could take all the time I needed to mourn. No one could replace me, and they were thinking of me always. No mention of any of the supportive messages they’d sent me when I let them know I needed more time. Being a relationship advice columnist when the love of my life had just died hadn’t been one of those things I could bounce back into.
My gaze shifted from the email to my list of ideas. So far I had a number one…and nothing else. That blank number one had taken a whole hour to figure out. I felt it was promising. I rolled my eyes. Who was I kidding? I still wasn’t there. My column was taken. I had to send back new ideas, not my old ones. No more stories on why Mr. Settle-For-You would never compare to Mr. Perfect-For-You. I was such a sap.
I hunched back over the computer and typed:
Ten things to do if your husband dies.
#1. Move out of your shared house. It saves time on being haunted.
#2. Hide the booze from others. You’ll want it on those nights when everyone leaves you alone, and that happens faster than you think.
#3. Smile. They may be perfect strangers, but they don’t like to be reminded they are.