Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Dayton.” His hand engulfs mine as it wraps around it, and an odd tingle spreads up my arm. “It’s nice to meet you, Franny.”
“You too. Now, if you don’t mind…” I wiggle my fingers so he’ll let my hand go. “I’m going to go get myself cleaned up.”
“I’ll come with. I was just in search of a bathroom when I bumped into you.”
“You’re in luck. I know where one is.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“A few times.” I lead the way through the living room to the doorway on the opposite side but take a left around the corner instead of a right, which goes to the large, covered back patio, where I can hear people talking and music playing. At the end, I open the door to the part of the house my parents actually use. Unlike the living room that we just walked through, the one we step into is warm and lived-in, with cozy couches, thick blankets, lots of pillows, and a large TV over the fireplace.
“Should we be in here?”
“My parents won’t mind.” I go down another hall to the half-bath, and the light comes on automatically when I step into the small room with him right behind me.
“You’re Barrett’s daughter.”
“Yep.” I meet his gaze in the mirror as I place my mostly empty champagne glass on the edge of the sink.
“Shit,” he mumbles, scrubbing his fingers through his hair, and I start to laugh as I grab a hand towel and wet it.
“Please don’t get weird now.”
“Weird?”
“Yeah, like you suddenly have no personality except for the one that is an exact replica of everyone else’s here tonight.”
“You noticed that too?”
“It’s hard not to notice when you’ve been around it as long as I have.” I start to wipe myself off, and thankfully, the color and material of my dress hides the champagne stain. “Do you work for my dad?”
“No, I work for the district attorney.”
“Are you a lawyer?”
“I am.”
“Oh.” I feel my nose scrunch involuntarily.
“What’s that ‘oh’ mean?” he asks, and I meet his gaze once more in the mirror.
“Nothing. I just know a lot of lawyers.” One of them being my ex-husband—not that I tell him that. I finish cleaning myself up, then turn toward the door he’s blocking with his wide shoulders. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
“Sure.” He steps to the side, allowing me space to scoot past him.
As he’s closing the door, I walk down the hall a little way and lean back against the wall across from one of the pictures we took as a family for my father’s social media platforms during his campaign. Between the photo editing and our plastic smiles, you’d never know that my mom and I had spent the morning crying after getting the news that her grandmother—my great-grandma—had passed away. Or that my brother Jacob was high as a kite, and he and Dad had just gotten into a blow-out fight that ended with Jacob having his car taken away from him for a month.
Coming out of my thoughts, when my cell phone begins to ring, I pull it out of my clutch and smile when I see it’s my best friend Molly calling.
I answer, putting my cell to my ear. “Hey, are you here?”
“No, and please don’t hate me.”
“You’re not coming.” My shoulders slump forward.
Molly has been my saving grace at these functions since we were kids, and both were forced by our parents to attend these parties. Early on, we figured out ways to make it fun for ourselves.
When we were little, we would sneak the extra desserts our moms always said no to and hide under a table somewhere, eating as many as we wanted until we couldn’t anymore. When we were teens, we’d sneak alcohol and get drunk without our parents ever noticing because they were normally too busy socializing to pay much mind to us. And as adults, we usually end up tucked away in a corner, people-watching and talking about all the drama that’s happening in everyone’s lives. And there is always a lot of drama—from affairs to girlfriends attending when wives are out of town, pregnancy scares, and kids of these people who should probably be locked up but never will be because their families can afford great lawyers.
“I was on the way out the door to meet you when I got a call from a client,” she says, dragging me back to the conversation. “They want to look at a property that just came on the market, so I’m meeting them in an hour. I’m not sure how long this showing will take, but last time I met with them, we spent over two hours inside the house and walking the property.”
“It’s fine. I totally understand.”
“I’m sorry,” she replies quietly, and I can hear the guilt in her voice. “I just can’t pass up the chance of possibly making a sale since this month has been so slow.”