Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Shoulders slumping at the honest realization, I bit back a sting of tears.
I wasn’t ready to date.
Not yet.
Damn Nick.
Damn him to hell.
Searching out my distraction, I walked toward the Leth Sholas Life Boat Service (LSLS) Charity Shop that Taran managed. She’d kindly allowed me to put an honesty box outside her store. I’d never heard of the concept of an honesty box until I moved to Scotland. Basically, people sold their wares from a box or sometimes even a small, unmanned store and depended on those who took the items to pay what they felt was a fair price for them.
When Cammie suggested it to me as a place to gauge people’s reactions to my pastries and cakes, I’d thought she was kind of nutty. But shockingly, people took the food and paid for it and paid fairly, sometimes even generously. I think the generous part was because everyone knew I was donating fifty percent of my proceeds to the LSLS. I broke even, but I still got a kick out of seeing how empty the box was. I grinned at it now as I pulled some antibacterial wipes out of my shoulder bag.
Opening the glass-fronted box Quinn had built, I wiped down the crumb-covered shelves, delighted by the emptiness. Every Wednesday morning I filled the box with savory and sweet pastries and an assortment of cakes. I’d been doing this for six weeks, and once word got around, Taran told me the box was empty by ten in the morning.
Grinning to myself, I wiped it all down, emptied the cashbox, and took half into the charity shop. Taran wasn’t there, but I left the money with one of the volunteers and walked out still wearing my silly smile. The salty breeze blowing off the water ruffled through my hair as a pale gold beam of sunlight peeked through a dark cloud above Stòr, and all of it lifted my mood considerably.
When my phone rang, I dug it out of my bag and answered brightly, “Hullo?”
The line crackled as the other person released a heavy breath. “God, it’s good to hear your voice.”
Cold fear flooded my veins, and I stumbled to a stop outside the local chocolate shop.
“Surprised to hear from me?” Nick asked.
“How …” My heart pounded so hard I could barely hear over the blood rushing in my ears.
“How am I calling you? Well, you’ll probably see in the news later today that my lawyers managed to swing a deal for me. No prison time, but I am stuck at home with a not-so-charming ankle accessory.”
No. No, no, no. I huffed out a shaky breath.
“Did you really think a Huston would go to jail? For a little insider trading? No, baby. I must take my slap on the wrist, but it’s only two years. Then I’m a free man. Thing is, we both know I’m not a patient man, and it has already taken quite a considerable amount of patience to give you space for the last fifteen months. I’m over it. Though it had the nice side benefit of lulling you into thinking we were actually done.” He laughed softly.
“We are done,” I managed to bite out. “I have nothing to say to you. I’m hanging up.”
“How’s that visa extension coming along?”
Panic tightened my throat.
He chuckled. “I thought that would get your attention. Did you know that my father is friends with members of the British Cabinet? He went to Harvard with a Brit who is now, and you’re not going to believe this, the Secretary of State for the United Kingdom. Do you know what a Secretary of State is, baby? That’s the highest authority on decisions regarding immigration and visas.”
As his meaning sank in, the street wavered in front of me, my hand shaking so hard the phone trembled against my ear.
“I do believe you’ll be applying for an extension on the work visa soon, and I have to tell you, it’s not looking good. So I’d start packing, London. You’re coming home. To me. And you and I are going to have a very difficult conversation once we’re reunited.”
Screaming sounded in my ears, and I realized it was internal. I was screaming in my head to hang up on him! I did, my fingers shaking so hard I almost dropped my phone twice.
I was going to be sick.
Reaching blindly for purchase on something, anything to hold me steady, I bent over and retched. Only a bit of bile and saliva came up but the urge remained, my chest heaving with the contractions.
“London!” I heard a gruff voice call out and the vague sound of running footsteps. Then an arm braced around me. The scent of cologne mingled with sea salt offered a distraction from my panic.
A strong hand rubbed my back.
“There, there … you’re all right.”