Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“That seems fast.”
“We have a shortage of beds.” She shrugs, opening the door. “If all is good, there’s no reason to keep her here longer.”
When the door closes and we’re left alone with the sound of her beating heart, I peer down at Tuesday. Her lipstick has been wiped away, and her hair hangs loose in gentle waves around her shoulders. Otherwise, she appears to be sleeping. My mom always said we do three things when we sleep: grow, recover, and renew. I’m sure Tuesday will be as good as new when she wakes up.
I take one last look at her, reaching through the bedrail to brush my fingertips against the top of her hand. “Guess this is goodbye.”
Walking away, I have no regrets. From choosing her over chasing down the mugger and saying what I needed to make sure she was taken care of. Even my confession to the nurse felt right when I did it, and it sits right in my conscience.
So I don’t understand why my chest grows heavier and each step pulls at me to stay. I push through the hesitation and hail a cab outside, leaving the hospital and Tuesday in the rearview mirror.
3
Loch
“Evening, Mr. Westcott.” The door hasn’t even closed behind me. Our building’s nighttime security guard monitoring the lobby desk always beats me to the greeting.
“Evening, Joe.” I ordered food as soon as I left the hospital. Picking up the bag from reception, I head for the elevators.
“Another late night?”
Turning back, I manage a half grin. “You’re stuck with me again.”
“I’ll be here all night.”
“I hope I’m not.”
He chuckles. I step into an elevator and punch the button for the twenty-third floor. It’s not a big office, but with four attorneys, two litigating specialists along with assistants, paralegals, HR, and accounting, we’ve grown a lot in the past two years and now occupy half the floor.
Everyone’s gone for the day when I step off the elevator. At least, I thought they were. As soon as I round the corner, Leisa pushes back from her desk and stands. “I haven’t received anything about time or date for court and—”
“Although I appreciate you staying late, you shouldn’t be here, Leisa. It’s almost eight.”
“If you’re here, I’m here.”
My assistant is dedicated beyond her pay. I need to make sure her bonus makes up for it, and she gets a raise. “Unlike me, you have a life. You should be out living it.”
She laughs. “So should you, but here we are.” She follows me into my office and sits across the desk from me.
Placing the bag in front of her, I say, “If you’re staying, let me offer you dinner. Eat something.”
The crinkling of the bag makes my stomach growl as I take off my jacket and hang it behind the door. When I sit in the black leather chair that matches the one my father uses at his office in my hometown of Beacon, I lean my head back and exhale as if the day has gotten the better of me. I hate to admit, this Tuesday has . . .
Tuesday. I can’t stop thinking about her and wondering if she’s awake.
Leisa says, “Boss?” I look up to find her staring at me expectantly. Being in her early thirties shouldn’t have her sporting dark circles under her eyes. She’s knotted her hair on her head, which is more her style once our coworkers have gone home than during business hours. She’s too much like me, letting each day become longer without time to live life anymore.
“I’m not going to eat your dinner. But more importantly, what happened after court?” she asks.
What happened? It’s a loaded question. I’m still not sure what the hell happened. I scrub my hands over my face, then drop them to the wooden desktop. “I bought coffee, but I have no fucking idea what happened to it.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “What do you mean? That doesn’t make sense.”
“A lot doesn’t make sense, starting with why the judge delayed the ruling.”
She puts the plastic dish full of pasta in front of me along with the included plasticware. “I’m not sure we can do much else tonight other than wait since you presented the evidence in our client’s favor, so eat.”
“You should eat it.”
“I’m taking your advice and going home to eat. Maybe one day, you’ll take mine and take care of yourself.” Standing back up, she slips out toward the door. “If you need anything—”
“I won’t need anything tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
With a nod and an empathetic smile that always makes me think she feels sorry for me, she then replies, “Good night, Loch.”
She learned years ago that she couldn’t coax me into going home when I feel the need to be in the office. “Night, Leisa.”
After she’s left, I roll up my sleeves, log in to my computer, and start reviewing the Reinhold case file.