Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Things back there okay?” I ask.
“Well, you could answer that question yourself if you’d stop by. If you need directions, let me know.”
I grin, but his point is not lost on me. “Very funny.”
He chuckles. “It’s been a while since you graced us with your presence. A lot of people back here would love to see ya.”
“Of course, they would.”
“I mean, they’d probably be ready for you to leave within five minutes, but they’d like to see you nonetheless.”
Our laughter blends together, reminding me of days gone by. Back when life was simple and good. Before everything got so damn complicated.
“Saw Brooks the other day,” Hartley says. “He came by to say hi.”
My brows tug together as my stomach growls again. “Brooks Dempsey?”
“How many Brooks do you know?” Hartley laughs. “And how many Brooks do you know who would be in Sugar County?”
“Isn’t he training in Vegas?”
“Yeah, but he’s injured. Tore his rotator cuff. He’s hoping to be back in the gym in six months, but he’s probably looking at a year from the sound of it. It’ll be longer than that before he can fight again.”
Heat colors my cheeks as I realize just how out of touch I am. Brooks was my best friend when I was a kid, and well into my twenties. Between his fighting career and my rugby schedule, we’d meet up for weekends a few times a year to catch up. But at some point, my phone stopped ringing. Or maybe his did. Either way, I haven’t talked to him in … months? I don’t even know.
I haven’t really talked to anyone lately except Hartley.
“I should give him a call,” I say, my voice gruff.
“He’d probably like that.” Hartley blows out a breath. “So are you getting settled in? Got everything ya need?”
My gaze drifts around the empty kitchen and into the living room. There’s a table, a sofa, and a decent-sized television. The place is bigger than the one I had in Denver, too.
“I can’t complain. They hooked me up with a furnished apartment, so that helps. I just need to go through my stuff and find a grocery store. I think I had a protein bar and a banana on Friday morning, a couple of shitty sandwiches yesterday afternoon … and that’s it. I’m dying.”
“Doesn’t the team have a cafeteria or something?”
“Something like that,” I say, running a hand over my head. My stomach tightens as I let my brain drift to the Royals … and her.
I’ve managed to avoid the thought of Astrid for most of the weekend, despite the leading role she played in a nightmare last night. She was chasing me around a gas station with her fucking clipboard. Other than that, she’s been a persona non grata in my life. Knowing that’s about to change makes me want to go back to bed.
“Then why are you complaining?” Hartley asks. “Just go there and grab some food.”
“Tomorrow is my first day at the facility.”
He laughs. “Don’t sound so excited.”
I run a hand down my face. “Make sure you get some protein and stay hydrated. It’s going to be a big week.”
That’s one way to put it. A hell week is probably more like it.
“Listen to this shit,” I say, leaning against the kitchen counter. “The Royals insisted on giving me a personal assistant.”
“Fancy.”
“Yeah, I wish.” My body tenses as I acquiesce to my new reality. I might as well think about it now and try to get used to it. After all, there doesn’t seem to be a way out of it. Not easily, anyway. “She’s essentially a fucking babysitter.”
The line grows quiet, and I’m sure Hartley’s trying to figure out what to say. I save him the trouble.
“She’s fucking miserable,” I say, my jaw pulsing as Astrid’s little smirk shoves its way through my mind. “She’s a know-it-all with delusions of grandeur. I don’t know if everyone in her life rolls over for her or what, but she’s obviously not used to not getting her way.”
Hartley hums. “I bet that goes over really well with you, doesn’t it?”
“If you’re imagining us squared up, you’re spot on.”
“What’s her problem?”
“Fuck if I know.” I shrug helplessly. “She has a superiority complex that I can’t get around. Her mind is made up about me—and her conclusions aren’t great.” No thanks to Renn, it seems. “She’s determined to lord over me for the next couple of months, so she doesn’t lose her Employee of the Month title or whatever the hell is going on. And I’m not about to back down and lose the bonus I got for agreeing to this mess.”
My mouth hardens as her admission rattles through my head. “I was tasked with keeping you in line.”
That’s the line I can’t forget—the one I can’t let go.
“Got any advice for me?” I ask, reading an alert that pops across the screen.