Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 75861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
"I didn't make it for her. I had it around. I am just giving it to her."
"Right, because that distinction really makes a difference," he drawled, rolling his eyes.
I chose to ignore that.
"What is she up to?"
"Last I saw her, she was trying to find something to wear that doesn't look like it cost a thousand dollars."
"She's afraid to order new clothes," I told him, shaking my head. "Though, I got some good news. Lloyd seems to know. But told me no one else does, and he doesn't plan to follow through with it."
"Fuck, seriously?"
"He had to interview her back with the Mallick thing."
"Ah, that explains it. Didn't see her myself, but a buddy of mine on the force said she was unrecognizable. Maybe you can convince her to pretend she has some death arrangements to do or something and pop by a store for some clothes."
"Not a bad idea. Bertram is handling the arrangements, but she's going to need something to wear for the funeral. The staff will buy that."
"How long until she can fire them?"
"Couple weeks maybe."
He looked almost disappointed for her, but shrugged it off. "Well, she's dealt with them this long. Before they shoved off, they actually talked shit about her looking worn down."
"I had hopes for Lydia."
"She just pretends better," he told me, putting down the bags and coffee, and helping me move the desk upstairs. Her pink room didn't have a dresser, but the room was designed to have one, so there was a whole wall that was unoccupied.
Cue the long, thin table Lincoln and I were moving into space. There was plenty of room underneath to get one of those stacking organizers where she could separate all her supplies, then a ton of workspace on top where she could leave her projects out without worry.
It was a small victory, but I had a feeling it would mean a lot to her.
"So where are you heading?" I asked as we went back downstairs after closing the door, not wanting to spoil the surprise, selfishly needing to see her see it for the first time. "The city?"
"Fuck no. Did that one year. All I got was frozen extremities and walking road rage. Got a girl who has an apartment over the river. We can watch the fireworks from sliding doors to her balcony. Naked."
"Didn't need the visual," I said, shaking my head. "How long you been with this one?"
"Few weeks," he said, shrugging.
Lincoln was a bit of a romantic, always thinking the next girl could be the right girl. The one he could settle down with, build a home with. As such, he got into relationship after relationship before going through the process of actually getting to know someone, seeing if they were compatible. Which left him with a good few weeks - at most months - of great sex and a honeymoon phase before the inevitable happened. Everyone started showing their true colors, their baser selves. And someone rubbed the other the wrong way. Arguments. Unhappiness. A breakup. Shower, rinse, repeat. It was a never-ending cycle.
I was starting to wonder if Lincoln would even know it when the right woman came along.
Then again, what the hell did I know on the matter?
"Well, have fun, man. Happy New Year."
"You too. Tell me how she likes it," he said, heading out the door.
I was reaching to lock it when I realized I wasn't alone.
"She likes what?" Jenny's voice called.
Called.
She only did that when we were alone - let her voice carry. Even around the endless parade of women in her social circle, she was always lowering her voice, making herself smaller in just about every way possible. With the staff as well.
It was only when no one else was around that you could hear her from clear across a room.
"Ah, the cat's outta the bag. You want your surprise now or after we eat?"
Her eyes lit at the word surprise, and I got the feeling her life hadn't been full of any good ones. Which only made me all the more excited to give one to her.
"This is an unfair decision. Hot food or a fun surprise?"
"The surprise will be quick. Food should still be hot."
"Decision made then," she said, smiling. The real kind, the one she didn't show to anyone else, without any sadness behind her eyes. "Where is it hiding? Do I have to guess?"
She was practically bouncing, and something in my heart swelled at seeing it.
"Back upstairs."
"I knew I heard someone out there!" she said, turning and running back up the stairs. I had to take them two at a time to keep up.
"Alright," I said when we were standing outside the guest room door. "Close your eyes," I demanded, putting a hand on the door handle from behind her, suddenly noticing how close we were, that if I shifted even the slightest bit forward, her ass would cradle into my hips, her shoulders would press into my chest, her head onto my shoulder. And I never could have realized how much I wanted that.