Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Some people don’t believe in coincidences. They think fate or God or the universe conspires to put things into place, exactly as they’re destined to be. I’ve been in too many weird situations to believe that’s true. Unless the universe has a really twisted, sick sense of humor. Which I guess might also be a possibility, but I’m going with weird coinkydink this time. Griffin doesn’t look convinced of that.
“Hey! Someone messaged me through my website about the ring too. I wonder if it’s one of them? Probably, right? Unless there’s someone else out on the hunt for the elusive Cursed Ring of Bad Luck-landia.”
“They messaged you? And you didn’t say anything?”
I recoil, confusion and a don’t-yell-at-me bitchiness warring on my face. “Why would I tell you? Considering I didn’t know there was any reason to be concerned because you didn’t warn me?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed like he’s praying. It’s a look I’ve seen before, many times, from many people. He’s annoyed with me and trying not to lose his shit. But my point is valid. We’ve never really talked about my business. I mean, he hears it when Dom asks or my parents brag, and he’s been super helpful with this whole ring deal, but there was no reason for me to bemoan my continued misfortune with him specifically. I handled it myself, the way I always have.
“Can I see?” He holds out his hand, expecting me to give him my phone simply because he asked. Though ask is a relative term. There might’ve been the littlest question mark on the end of what he said, but it was an order all the same.
I could refuse. I could get up and leave. I could just wash my hands of this whole catastrophic episode of season twenty-five in Penelope Lee’s life. Instead, I pull my phone from my pocket and, after a few clicks, show him the messages and my responses. He nods as he reads like he approves. Not that I care, and not that it matters, but a tiny piece of me wants to show him that I’m a businesswoman who can string together a professional email in an unfortunate circumstance. I’m not a complete clusterfuck, current situation notwithstanding.
“I haven’t responded to the latest message. When I saw it, I got inspired to try to find it again. That’s why I went to talk to Mad Dog this morning. Maybe I should respond, though?” I hover my fingers over the buttons on my phone, trying to figure out what to say.
“Just tell them it was stolen. It’ll get their attention off you, which is the most important thing.”
I’m already shaking my head before he finishes the never-been-a-business-owner advice. “I can’t tell them that. It makes me sound like an irresponsible, unreliable flake, which I’m not. At the end of the day, it’s still a potential client.”
“Or a potential murderer,” Griffin deadpans.
“Har har har.”
Griffin scrubs a hand over his jaw, thinking. “Why don’t you wait? Maybe Johnny K will come through on this and we can get the ring back?”
I can’t help but grin. “Look who’s the optimist now? You’re downright Hopeful Harry over there.” But it does sound like a good idea, probably because it’s delaying an inevitably uncomfortable conversation with the potential client-slash-murderer. I put my phone down and risk poking the bear, which is probably stupid, but I want to do it anyway. After all, I’ve never been accused of playing it safe, so why start now? “Now that that’s figured out, are we going to talk about the second kiss?”
A devilish smile lifts his lips so high that I see a rare flash of white teeth, or at least a rare happy flash. Normally he only bares his teeth like a predator ready to rip into a victim. “You mean when you kissed me?” He arches one brow, the arrogance he normally possesses rushing back into his entire aura. “And tried to hang on to my neck like a monkey so you could wrap your legs around me?”
My jaw drops open and I make a huffing sound of nuh-uh, but he’s not exactly wrong. I’m just not ready to admit that maybe he’s right. “I meant the one where you pushed me up against the wall and I could feel your dick digging into my stomach and your hand on my throat made me want to do wicked, nasty, dirty things.”
“Fuck, Penny. Don’t talk like that around me,” he hisses, shifting his hips and making me feel victorious in our never-ending war of words. Then he waves his hand. “Scratch that, don’t talk like that at all. It’s dangerous.”
“I’ll talk however I want to. About all the sexy, naughty things I like or might like if I had the chance to try them,” I argue, realizing something revolutionary. At this moment, Griffin wants me. Drawing a tally mark in the air, I inform him, “Hand necklace, two thumbs up, ten out of ten, would do again. Think there’s a place on Yelp to write that review?”