Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Teddy.”
“Oh.” God, have I turned stupid? Or has this man just managed to obliterate every bit of sense from my brain just by looking at me?
“Oh,” he says smoothly.
“I knew Teddy. Sure. Everyone knows Teddy.” I swap back and forth between present and past tense because it is unthinkable to me that someone as lively as Teddy could possibly be gone. “They said it was an accident.”
“It wasn’t,” he says.
“I… I don’t know anything about it,” I stammer. “Are you a detective?” I ask the question because I suddenly realize that this might be a criminal investigation. He was just in my house. He let himself in. Maybe he’s a policeman. Maybe I’m about to be arrested.
I feel a cool chill run through me at the idea of this man sliding cuffs on my body.
“He loved you.”
“He did?” I am conditioned to lie, so I lie. “We didn’t really even date. We went out a couple times.”
Those brown eyes turn almost red in the flickering of the light. I know that there’s nothing supernatural about him. He’s just a man. But he doesn’t feel like one. He feels like someone with a lot of power.
I think police have to identify themselves though.
“Am I in trouble?”
He cocks his head to the side and his lips quirk a little. He finds me amusing in some way, but I don’t think it’s a good thing. I don’t think this man is someone whose attention I want.
His eyes flicker from me to the other man. He makes a little motion with his head. A tilt, nothing more. The other guy leaves, shutting my apartment door quietly behind him.
The atmosphere in the room shifts. It doesn’t feel like my place anymore. It’s his, somehow. The painting on the wall behind him is the one I did at a sip and spill event a month ago, but it’s his painting now. Every brushstroke. Every line. Everything in this place is his. Including me.
I shake my head as the sense of disorientation grows.
“Look at me,” he says, his words soft, but firm.
I do as I am told. I didn’t have to actually be told. I would look at him if he was in a room of a thousand other people. This man is the definition of magnetic. He has a charm and an authority that will not be denied. And he has Teddy’s eyes.
They are a different color, and they sit in a face with different features, but that, I think, is the reason for my uncanny reaction.
Teddy never used them this way. His danced with laughter, or sometimes brimmed with exuberance, but this man uses that same gaze to house a very different soul.
I feel myself bracing against the chair, almost like he is the big bad wolf, and I might find myself blown away. I am used to strong men thinking I am prey. It comes with the territory of being a woman. They never think you are anything besides something to consume.
This man is inherently no different.
He might be worse than most.
“I want you to be as honest with me as you can,” he says. “It’s important.”
“You’re Teddy’s brother,” I say.
“You know who I am?”
“I know his eyes.”
He blinks and his head jerks back slightly. He didn’t expect to be seen so clearly, or so soon. He was hoping I’d mistake him for a detective.
“I’m Aiden Levin,” he says.
That name probably means something in his world. I bet that sends shivers down venture capitalists’ spines. He’s got that rich guy air that explains why he felt comfortable just coming to where I live and letting himself in.
“And you broke into my apartment. I’m going to call the police.”
His eyes narrow at me just a fraction. “That won’t do you any good, but you’re welcome to do so if you feel it’s necessary.”
I take out my phone, still keeping eye contact with him.
“Why did you come to my house?”
“You know why I am here. You were connected to Teddy. He’s dead. We need to know why.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say, feeling how shallow those words are, especially in an interaction with someone as intense as this.
He inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the words.
“Thank you.”
Aiden
I know Leo has been coming here. When I ask him where he has been, it’s not to get information. I always know an answer before I ask a question. This girl has consumed the attention of two of my brothers now. Whether she was connected to Teddy’s death or not, I had to meet her myself.
The girl is pretty. She has a kind of fragility to her that is greatly appealing. Her place is small, neat, clean. Except for the bedroom. That is an unholy mess.
She is curvy, she is short. She has tattoos, though most of them are hidden under her corporate gym attire. She likes to present a facade to the world of competence and conservatism that is being belied by the purple streak in her hair. Interesting, though also adaptive and hardly grounds for judgment.