Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 30858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
“Is that true, Mr. Saint?”
“You’re supposed to be asking my wife questions at this moment.” I switched lanes. “I’ll correct any issues if there are any.”
“Fair enough.” He cleared his throat. “So, Mrs. Saint—five things you love about him?”
“He knows all of his employees by name,” she said. “And I find it endearing that he greets everyone by name whenever he sees them in the hallway.”
“That’s going to have to count as just one…”
“Two,” she said. “He swears up and down that his favorite food is fettuccine Alfredo because that’s his chef’s favorite thing to cook, but it’s actually not. It’s a basic cheeseburger, but he won’t admit it because he doesn’t want to hurt his chef’s feelings.”
I looked over at her, stunned that she knew. That she noticed…
“For three, he pretends like he doesn’t remember my birthday, but it’s always marked as a vacation on every work schedule, and he makes sure my team is off that weekend, too.”
I don’t do that for anyone else on my staff except you…
“Four is—” She hesitated for a second as we approached a stoplight, and her eyes briefly met mine. “I like the way that he sometimes handles things that are bothering me without even mentioning that he was definitely behind them.”
“And five?”
“He has a thing for decorating our office for the holidays,” she said. “It’s nice.”
“Everyone knows that, Mrs. Saint. Tourists and strangers slip into the lobby to take pictures all the time.”
“Everyone knows about Christmas,” she said. “He decorates my office for every holiday, because he knows my mom used to do that when she was alive, so…”
“Oh, I see.” He nodded. “Well, then. That’s very beautiful, and that’s it for now.”
Thank you…
Thirty minutes later
I pulled into my mother’s long driveway, shocked that not a single piece of holiday décor was on display.
Then again, my father was the one who usually went out of his way to do it, and the decorator she hired in the past never quite matched anything close to what he used to do.
Opening Jenna’s door, I helped her out of the car and pressed my palm against the small of her back.
I led her up the patio steps with Mr. Reaves close behind.
Then I let out a breath and rang the doorbell.
“Who the hell is that?” a deep voice yelled.
“Someone is at our door!” another one called.
Did she sell this house and move without telling me?
Before I could pull out my phone and call her, the door swung open, and she answered in nothing but a bra and shorts so short they looked like panties.
Jesus… “We can wait until you’re fully dressed if we caught you fresh out of the shower.”
“You think this is what I wear out of the shower?” She laughed, pulling me in close for a hug. “These are my freedom clothes.”
“Then we’ll wait for you to put on the prisoner version…” I hugged her back before pulling away.
“Who do we have here?” She looked at Jenna. “She’s beautiful, son!”
“This is Jenna, my fiancée.”
“I know a Jenna.” She tapped her lip. “I talk to a Jenna on your behalf all the time. Is this Jenna that Jenna? Like your assistant?”
“The very same.” Jenna smiled and extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Saint.”
“In person, you mean.” She shook her hand, winking. “I talk to you far more than I talk to my own son. You know that.”
“I would like an introduction as well.” Mr. Reaves weaved his way through us, extending his hand. “I’m their third wheel for this trip. I’m from a firm.”
“For the inheritance.” My mother read him like a book. “Right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, we can’t all be perfect.” She gave him a handshake and ushered us inside. “Now, don’t be alarmed. I’m in the middle of remodeling.”
What in the actual …
I stopped at the Twilight Zone bullshit in front of me.
There was no furniture. Not a single appliance. No rugs or portraits hanging on the walls.
Just sand. All over the floor, stretching from room to room.
“Please take off your shoes,” she said. “I don’t want to get my space messy.”
“Are you still talking to that psychiatrist I hired for you?” I asked. “Does he know about this shit?”
“Look who’s home!” She rushed off before giving me an answer, rushing right into the arms of a man who had the hairy chest of a grizzly bear.
His shorts are even shorter than hers…
“Wow, Nicholas Saint.” He waved at me. “A real-life multimillionaire in the flesh. Amazing.”
“I’ll say.” Another man—this one with the slicked, oiled chest of a mannequin—walked into the room and kissed her on the lips. “We’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.”
What in the actual fuck is this?
I stood guard by the door, debating whether Jenna and I should make a run for it and leave Mr. Reaves here.