Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Nah?” he asks, his lips right near my ear.
I shake my head, but I also giggle when he tickles my ribs. “Okay, fine!” I whisper-yell. “I might’ve missed you a little bit.”
He chuckles then and shuts and locks the door behind him as he steps us inside. He follows me back up the stairs without a moment’s delay. He drops his duffel to the ground by the kitchen island, and I open the fridge door to pull out a plate I saved him from dinner.
“Hungry?” I ask, holding the leftovers out toward his face. “I made meatloaf and mashed potatoes and carrots.”
“Damn, woman.” He makes a show of licking his lips. “You sure are the best.”
I grin, set the plate on the counter, and start removing the plastic wrap from the top. But before I can carry it over to the microwave for a quick reheat, he gently grabs my attention with his hand on my wrist.
“Before you do that, I have some news.”
I furrow my brow, setting the plate back on the counter. “Is it about the case?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “But Shane’s keeping me updated on that, and he feels strongly everything is going as it should. They have two suspects they’ve really homed in on.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Even though I try not to think about the case and the tragic events that it involves, I’d be lying if I said it’s not still on my mind. I mean, how could it not be when my calls are still being recorded because a murderer is still on the loose?
“Okay . . .” I pause, my eyes searching his. “Then . . . ?”
“I know you’re not happy working at Call Me Anytime, and I know you don’t feel like you have a choice.” He reaches into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out what looks to be paper of some sort. “But, Hannah, you do have a choice.”
I scrunch up my nose as he sets the papers into my hands. “What is this?”
“Just look at it.”
I move my eyes from his face to my hands, and the first thing I see is a payment confirmation to the same lender I used to get the reverse mortgage on my mom’s house. But as I look closer, I realize the payment is in reference to this address, and it’s in the amount of $301,752.28.
The exact amount I know I still owe on the loan.
“Dom?”
“You don’t have to worry about it anymore, Hannah,” he says. “The loan is paid off in full. You’ll get the deed in the mail in two weeks.”
“You paid off my debt?” I ask, my mind and chest and belly feeling woozy with confusion and discomfort. “In full?”
“I wanted to do it,” he says and reaches out to place a gentle hand to my wrist. “I had the money, more than enough money to help you, and I just couldn’t stand by and let you suffer working at CMA when I could easily help you out of that situation.”
I flip the paper over, still trying to understand what in the hell is happening, but as I do, the paper beneath it comes into full view. And it’s not a paper at all, but a check. A check from a Dominic Dunn signed to Hannah May for the insane amount of one hundred thousand dollars.
“Dom, I don’t . . .” I pause, and the most uncomfortable of emotions clogs my throat. I don’t know if I’m angry or sad or upset, but I know that none of this is making me feel good.
If anything, it’s making me feel pathetic. Like I’m a weak woman who can’t handle her own shit. Like I’m a charity case.
“Han, I know it’s a lot, but you deserve it. You deserve this freedom,” he says, and I look up to find him smiling softly at me. But I don’t feel like smiling at all.
“Freedom?” I blurt out. “This doesn’t feel like freedom, Dom. This feels like . . . I’m drowning. This feels like I’m suffocating.”
“Suffocating?” His head jerks back in surprise. “Hannah? What do you mean? I don’t understand. I thought—”
“Dom, this is too much,” I cut him off, shaking my head furiously. “This is wrong in so many different ways I don’t even know where to begin.”
“My helping you is wrong?”
“No,” I retort. “You going behind my back and arranging all of this without even talking to me first was wrong.”
“Wait . . .” He pauses and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re mad at me?”
“I’m more than mad, Dom. I’m disappointed. I’m hurt. I’m so . . .” I trail off, not able to find the words.
“Hannah,” he whispers and reaches out for me, but I shove his hands away.