Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I can’t picture Elias Cohen in joggers or sweatpants or a baseball cap, which is what I wear most days.
Yet my eyes linger up his form, imagining something casual and enjoying how I picture it in my mind.
“I’m not just telling you so you’ll compliment me back. I’m being sincere.”
No. He doesn’t seem like the type who would.
My shoulders relax. I hadn’t realized I was feeling so tense, but in a weird way, I think I’m nervous being here. Not just because of the celebrity-filled crowd but because of Elias.
Whatever weird friendship this is becoming began with tension. Now I’m having trouble turning the ship in a new direction; a fun, upbeat vibe as opposed to this…tiptoeing around one another.
“Thank you.” I tilt my head demurely. “Perhaps we should raise our glasses in a toast? Get the evening started off right.”
The evening started over an hour ago, and we’re just about to sit down for dinner, but that’s just semantics. He knows what I mean.
Elias raises his glass. “I’ll let you do the honors.”
“To…new friendships and old friends.” I nod in Tripp Wallace’s direction. “Although technically, he’s your client.”
“There you go calling him old,” Elias teases.
I roll my eyes. “To new friendships and old friendships,” I amend cheekily. “I’d really like to start fresh and pretend I wasn’t a complete asshole the night you knocked on my office door. Because—believe it or not—I’m fun.”
“You don’t say?” Elias pauses. “If we’re going to be friends, you should call me Eli—all my friends do.”
Eli.
It suits him.
“Eli, hey?”
“Yup.” He glances around and notices at the same time that guests are filtering into the ballroom for dinner. “You see that woman there in the purple dress? When I went to the bathroom before, she tried to follow me inside. Then I come back to find my date moaning over the fondue.”
“I mean, I love chocolate.”
“You’re not going to have any room left for dinner.”
There is always room for dinner. Doesn’t he know that?
eight
eli
Out of all the people I was expecting to see tonight, the last person I expected was Laura.
Keith Dwyer has been traded so many times since they hooked up that I wouldn’t have thought he’d have an invitation to the event tonight. But then again, maybe his new agent was good at pulling strings.
In any event, Laura was the first person standing inside the ballroom when we walked in, and I almost fucking froze in my tracks.
She has her back to us, but I’d recognize that blonde hair anywhere.
I’d recognize the way she stands with her hands on her hips, judging people.
I’d recognize—
She turns.
“Holy shit,” I blurt out as people funnel into the room around us, the words caught in my throat.
Laura is pregnant.
Rubbing her belly, she smooths her gloved hand over her bump, a pleased smile spreading across her red lips.
Well then.
My feet won’t propel me forward.
“Eli?” Molly uses my new nickname, her hand giving my forearm a squeeze. “Is everything alright?”
“Sure.”
Her gaze follows mine. “Do you know her? Or is she someone we’re trying to keep away from you?” She laughs.
Oh, we’re trying to keep her away from me, alright, but not for the reason she’s thinking.
We were supposed to get married and have babies, but it looks like she’s busy having babies with someone else.
“Who hurt you to make you like this?”
Laura.
Laura made me like this.
What would Molly say to that nugget of information?
“Do you want to leave?” Molly’s eyes haven’t left Laura, and to be honest, neither have mine.
I nod.
“Yes.”
Yes, I want to leave. I want to get the fuck out of this room and get the hell away from this thing I’m running from.
Rejection.
Hurt.
Molly nods, face taking on a serious expression. She takes the drink out of my hand and sets it on a passing tray, then follows it with hers.
“Alright. Let’s get the hell out of here then.”
nine
molly
Thank god he wanted to leave.
I hadn’t wanted to be there in the first place. And although I’d been enjoying myself, I sagged with relief when Eli had nodded his head that he wanted to go.
I pluck the drink out of his hand and set both of ours on a roaming tray, then grab his hand and head toward the exit, nearly forgetting I had my wrap checked at the door. We grab it before exiting, Eli weaving his way through the lobby that’s still crowded despite the event being in full swing and dinner being served.
“Half these people don’t even have tickets,” he mutters over his shoulder, grumbling once we’re on the sidewalk. “It’s always a zoo. Everything is always a zoo.”
Clearly, he’s been triggered, his bad mood hanging over him like a cloud, and I wonder who that woman was—the tall, pregnant blonde who had him stopping in his tracks and wanting to retreat.
Who was that woman?
A client’s wife?