Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
I blink. And then again.
The woman is shorter than I am by just a little. Her hair is longer, and her eyes are a darker brown. She’s pretty. Very pretty. I feel sick . . .
“Can I help you?” She glances over my shoulder toward the stairs like she expects someone else. “Do you have the food?”
“Food?”
She tilts her head, and her brows pinch together. “Do you have my order, or are you some psychopath knocking on my door?”
“Oh, um . . .” I catch a glimpse of the couch that Keats once folded out and the bookcase in the corner. The Christmas tree is gone, the books are more organized, and the rug is pink, but it’s mostly the same otherwise. I back away, my butt hitting the stair railing. “I have the wrong apartment.” Tears flood my eyes as I realize that could have been me. Cozy and cuddling in his arms every night could have been my life.
I never needed the life I have, but I wanted a life with him.
“Who are you looking for?” she asks as concern crinkles the corners of her eyes. Unsurprisingly, this makes her even more beautiful. Figures.
“No one. I’m sorry. Wrong apartment.”
“Babe?” A man’s voice sends me running down the staircase as soon as she turns away. My feet are moving so fast that my body struggles to keep up. My thoughts are spinning, and as soon as I push through the door, I stumble onto the sidewalk where my heart shatters all over again.
“Sosie?” Marcy runs to me.
Bent over, resting my hands on my legs, I can’t breathe. My tears fall from my eyes like traitors hell-bent on revealing my weakness. Him. It will always be him.
Wrapping her arms around me, she pulls me to her. “Oh Sos, I’m so sorry.”
It takes a minute for my eyes and mind to clear, and when it does, I take a deep breath. “We should get out of here,” she says, hooking her arm with mine and pulling me away. “This was not my best idea.”
Just out of the spotlight of the building, I stop in the shadows and look back. “It’s okay. This was the closure I needed.”
CHAPTER 13
TWO YEARS LATER
KEATS
It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a black-tie affair, and this is the first one I’ve agreed to attend where I wasn’t serving others. “No, thank you,” I say to a server as she passes hors d’oeuvres through the crowd on a silver platter.
Admittedly, I would be more comfortable carrying a tray than mingling with strangers I’ve been sent to charm my way into connecting with, also known as networking. I’ve found success on a more personal level with my clients. I’ve made more money than I ever thought I could, and I was a big fucking dreamer. In four years, I’ve had a handful of promotions, earning me a title that sits under the president of the finance department. I didn’t have to fuck anyone over. I didn’t have to step on coworkers to get to the top. I kept my head down and focused on the clients, meeting them where they are in their businesses. From Kickstarters to established firms, I shook hands in their office, at coffee shops, and at small dinner parties.
Standing in the middle of this crowd, I adjust my silk bow tie and wish I had stuck with the black tie I originally chose to wear with this tuxedo. I don’t feel like myself.
Taking a drink of champagne even feels pretentious. I work my way to the bar. It’s tempting to order a beer or even a whiskey neat, but I’m supposed to be blending in, so I go with a bourbon, as if that makes a difference.
As soon as I take a sip, my shoulder is squeezed, and from behind me, someone says, “Here’s the star I was talking about.” I instantly recognized my boss’s voice. I hadn’t seen Mr. Young even though he insisted I come to this event at the Plaza when I could have been at home wrapping up edits on the manuscript I just finished. With the goal of sending it off to agents on Monday, I would rather be working on it than making appearances at over-the-top parties.
Wealth is seen in every detail, from the crystal chandeliers to the scale of this event and the guest list. Money. Money. Money.
I turn to look behind me, already grinning. Mr. Young has treated me well at the company. It’s good to have one-on-one time with him out of the office. Though I have a feeling this conversation will no doubt end in business. “Nice party,” I say, shaking his hand.
“It’s been fruitful so far. How are you hanging in there?” He tugs at his bow tie like I had just done to mine. Leaning closer, he keeps his eyes forward like he’s about to reveal a secret he doesn’t want others to hear. “I don’t love these events, but they’re a necessary evil.”