Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 134133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
I give it to him, but I'm still on the edge of my seat as he gets back on the road and presumably starts toward my mom's house.
When he takes a left I'm not expecting, my heart accelerates. "We're going straight to her house, right?"
He meets my gaze briefly in the mirror before returning his to the road. "Unless you'd like to stop at your place to drop off your schoolbooks, yes."
I glance down at the bag leaning against the seat. "That's okay. I'd just like to pick up my mom."
He nods. "We're heading there now," he assures me. "I was just avoiding an accident on the route," he adds, perhaps realizing my anxiety is because he took a wrong turn.
"Oh," I say, relief washing over me as I sit back in the seat. "All right. I should probably text her to let her know we’re coming then, huh?”
Hugh nods kindly. “Yes, I imagine you should.”
Reassured that we really are going to pick her up, I finally text Mom to let her know I'm coming to get her, and I have a surprise.
“What is it??” she asks.
“You’ll never guess,” I tease. “Just clear your schedule and be ready to go in ten minutes.”
“Ohh, I love surprises! Best daughter ever,” she sends back with a smiley emoji.
I smile, too, because I love being able to surprise her like this.
Chapter thirteen
Sophie
After a full evening of shopping, we leave the last store with bags bursting with new clothes and a new winter coat for me.
I don't feel guilty indulging in a shopping spree on Silvan's dime. I wish I could buy more. He owes me a little something for the pain and suffering of having to endure his tenacious presence.
"Remember those Christmas trees with hanging wishlists from families in need they used to have up around the holidays? Do they still have those? It's been years since we've been able to grab a tag and buy them some stuff. We should find one while I have Silvan's credit card."
Mom smiles faintly. Obviously, I couldn't tell her the real story, so I told her Silvan lost a bet with me and that's why we're out on the town on some rich boy's dime. "I don't think they put those up this early in the year. I feel like we used to get those around Thanksgiving."
"Too bad," I murmur, stopping on the sidewalk where Hugh dropped us off. I glance over at Mom. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Are you ready to get some food?"
Mom nods and Hugh pulls up to the curb. Like always, he gets out and comes around to open the door for us, but I feel so awkward standing there waiting for him to serve me, I say, "Don't worry about it," and open the door myself.
Or, I try to anyway.
I'm expecting an average car door, but when I go to open it, it's like pulling on a wall of cement.
What the hell?
"I've got it, Miss Bradwell," Hugh says, grabbing the handle and pulling the heavy door open.
Why is it so heavy?
Mom climbs in, but I remain on the sidewalk, frowning at the thick door, noticing things I didn't last night. I knew it was thick, of course, but I didn't think much of it. I've never been in a limousine before, so I figured it was standard. Maybe it is. Are all limos like this?
"Is that... armored?" I ask, glancing at Hugh.
His lips thin and he gives a curt nod. "Yes, ma'am."
I've heard of like presidents and dignitaries having armored cars, but I can't imagine Silvan needing something like that. What did he say his family did? Shady business in the 1920s, sure, but did he specify what they do to make so much money now?
Not for the first time, an awareness that I don't really know anything about this guy washes over me. I glance down the road in the direction Hugh came from absently, torn between asking more questions and knowing he likely won't answer if I ask anything too juicy, anyway.
Hair stands up on the back of my neck. I don't know why, but then I turn my head and my heart stalls as my gaze locks with Dylan Prescott's.
He's standing on the sidewalk a few yards down, outside a candy store. He's talking on his cell phone, but rather than do the polite thing and look away so we can pretend we didn't see each other, he starts walking in my direction.
Is he seriously coming over here?
Panic swells up and I feel sick at the thought—and even worse because Mom's in the car. "Hugh, can you please close the door for a moment?" I ask, barely able to keep the panic from my voice.
A frown flickers across his face, but he obeys without question.