Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
“I’m attending a very important flurry of parties,” I say, clearing my throat, “and I need dress and suit options.”
She doesn’t respond right away—just looks me over like I’ve tracked mud onto the carpet.
“Well,” she says eventually. “Did you mean to come into this store?”
I blink. “I was told you had good options.”
“For… parties?” Her tone is flat, condescending.
“Yes. In pink, preferably.”
She doesn’t move. “Do you have an appointment?”
“I didn’t know I needed one.”
“We cater to regular clientele,” she replies coolly. “You might have better luck at TJ Maxx. Or Marshall’s.”
“Excuse me?”
“This isn’t the kind of store where people browse.”
“I’m not just browsing. If I see something I like, I’ll buy it.”
Her smile sharpens. “With what?”
“I have a black card. Want to see the limit?”
She pauses, but only to lean closer. “You can barely walk in your heels. Which means they’re either knockoffs, or the nicest thing you own to fool people who don’t know better.”
She doesn’t stop there.
“Your hair—the parts that aren’t split ends—looks like it hasn’t seen a flatiron in years. And your shirt? Jordache, right? That’s old-school Walmart. Maybe even Goodwill. Three holes in it… so vintage.”
I stare at her, stunned.
“But hey.” She tilts her head. “It’s not that I think you can’t afford what’s in here,” she says. “I know.”
She steps aside, and her associate is already holding the door open.
Around us, the boutique is silent. The other customers are still watching. One of them raises a phone like she’s catching the end of a scene.
I swallow hard, eyes stinging. My hands tremble as I back away—past the mannequins, past the racks, past the golden clutch I’ll never touch again.
Outside, the city air hits me like a slap. I cross the street and stop in front of the Michael Kors store, hand on the door.
I hesitate, then let it fall back to my side.
It’s not worth it…
TWENTY
HARRISON
“Maybe I was wrong to dump her, man.”
My worst client, Greg, dabs his eyes with a Kleenex as we sit in my condo’s lobby.
I’d tried to meet him somewhere else—anywhere else—but he insisted on meeting me on my home turf, so that “You can’t use the excuse of needing to drive home. You’ll already be there.”
I will never share my home address again…
“Greg, listen to me.” I keep my voice firm. “She set your car on fire.”
“I know.”
“She also set your sister’s car on fire.”
“My sister and I haven’t really gotten along in years. She’s been a bitch to me in the past, so maybe that was just karma.”
“That’s not the—” I rub my temple and decide to change direction. “Why do you miss her? Give me three reasons.”
“She was with me before I made money, before I even thought about starting my company,” he says. “All the women I’ve dated lately are gold diggers.”
“Fly to another city and meet new ones under a different name. Problem solved. What else?”
“She gave head like a damn legend.” He grins. “Otherworldly. Like, if they bottled skills and sold them on the market, hers would be a designer brand.”
I blink, unsure how to respond. “Give me the third reason.”
“Well, it’s…” He trails off.
But I’m no longer listening. Eliza just darted past the windows—face flushed, eyes glassy.
What the hell?
As Greg keeps fumbling for a final reason, I pull out my phone.
Me
Why is Eliza running down the street? Did she get tired of waiting for you to make it to the garage in traffic?
Harold
She refused to get in the car after shopping. I was planning to tell you once you were done with your meeting.
“She’s my princess,” Greg says finally. “I’m her knight in shining armor, and I’m going to slay whatever dragons I need to in order to get her back.”
“You’re a fucking simp if you try to get her back.” I rise, already done with this conversation. “Her skills probably are incredible—since she used them on six different men while cheating on you. And she knew damn well you had the potential to make money, even when you weren’t making it yet. That’s why every guy she cheated with works on Wall Street too. Do you not see the pattern?”
“I…” His face pales. “I guess I… Okay. I needed a wake-up call. Thank you.”
“I’m charging you for this shit.” I roll my eyes. “Expect an invoice by the end of the night.”
“Do you know any women who give great blowjobs for a fee? Maybe that’s what I need to look into next.”
I don’t respond. I just head to the elevator and hit the button harder than necessary.
The doors glide open. Eliza’s inside, staring straight ahead at the mirrored glass.
“Were you planning to go up?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer, but tears are silently sliding down her face.
I hit the button for my floor and type in the passcode. Then I step closer and gently wipe her cheeks with my fingertips.