Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Really?” he says, surprised. “Um, okay. How is Friday?” he asks me.
“It’s Tuesday,” I tell him.
“Yeah, I know, but I don’t have time,” he says. “I mean, I guess we can do Thursday night, but I would have to get back to you.”
“Mark, I have your fish,” I tell him, raising my voice. “I am busy, too, but I can squeeze you in tonight at five thirty. It can be at Starbucks for all I care.”
“Um, five thirty …” he says, and I picture him tapping his chin. “I guess I can move my date to seven thirty instead.” Asshole. I want to snap at him, but I don’t.
“Great, why don’t we meet in the middle?” I tell him, pretending he didn’t just tell me he has a date with someone else.
“Sounds good, Vivienne,” he says my name, and I suddenly hate it. “See you then,” he says and then disconnects. I put the phone down, and I swear in French, English, and all the other languages that I know. I also run out and grab some fish food so Elsa doesn’t starve to death.
I choose an outfit that doesn’t look like I spent an hour trying on everything I own. I finally settle on tight dark blue jeans with a cashmere sweater with ruffled sleeves tucked in the front and falling off one shoulder. I grab my camel thigh-high suede boots and put them on, making my legs look even longer than they are, and grab my brown Gucci belt. I walk out the door right on time, my hands shaking and my stomach dipping. I really need to eat something, so I grab a cab there, and when I walk into the Starbucks that we decided on, I look around and see he isn’t here yet. I look at my clock, and it’s 5:35. I walk to the counter and order myself a chai latte and then go to sit in the corner, facing the door. I wait, checking the door the whole time, and I finally see him walking up to the door. It’s a good thing I am watching the door to prepare myself. He pulls open the door and steps in, and all eyes turn to him. He runs his hands through his long hair. He is wearing a black suit with a white button-down shirt, opened at the collar.
His eyes roam the room to spot me, and when he finally does, he smiles at me and walks over. “Hey there, sorry I’m late,” he says, leaning down, and again, I wait for his lips to hit mine, but he kisses my cheek again. His hands graze mine as he sits down, sending a tingle all up my arm, and by the time I look down, his hand is gone.
“No worries. I just got here,” I tell him, and grab the menu. “I didn’t get you anything. I wasn’t sure.”
“That’s okay,” he says, smiling. “I have to say I was surprised to get your phone call this morning,” he says, and it’s at that moment I gasp.
“I forgot the fucking fish.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mark
“I forgot the fucking fish.” She gasps, and I want to laugh at her. Was she as nervous as I was about this meeting that she forgot the whole reason we were supposed to meet?
After I left her place last night, I could still smell her on me. I knew I was leaving the fish, so I was just waiting for her to call me back. When she called me this morning, I purposely let it go to voice mail. It was a free day, so I didn’t have to go into the arena and I didn’t have to work out. I spent the day going over emails and planning things with Tracy about opening another location in LA.
“Are you trying to get me to meet you again?” I ask her, and she rolls her eyes. I lied about my schedule being full. The only thing it’s full of is plans to win her back. “I must say, this is a change from last night.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says, taking a sip of her drink. “I’ll have it delivered to your house tomorrow.”
I put my hands on the table and lean in. “What did you want to talk about?” I smile at her. “I mean, besides the fish.”
“Well,” she says, and I want to lean over and brush her hair back and kiss her bare neck. “I was thinking about how you said you wanted to be friends.”
“I thought you said we couldn’t be friends.” I repeat what she told me yesterday.
“Yes, well, you were right. We are both mature adults,” she starts, “and as you said, we will be seeing each other from time to time.” I nod at her. “And we do have lots in common, and it wouldn’t be that horrible if we kept in touch.”