Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I stop halfway down, needing a quick break from the ache in my feet. He goes four more steps before turning back. He returns, staying a step lower than me. Though to be eye level, he’d need to go down one more, or even two. “My feet hurt.”
“I’d carry you if I could.” He lifts his broken arm.
“It’s okay. I just need a break.” He holds out his hand so I can use him to balance. I rest my hand on his and lift each leg like a flamingo, giving it the rest it needs before switching feet. “Why won’t you tell me how much you donated? As your wife, don’t I have a right to that information?”
A smile splits his cheeks, and he chuckles. “You’re relentless.” I nod just enough to agree. “Why do you want to know?”
“I want to know how the other half lives.” As soon as I say it, I know I’ve given away a part of my act. It’s tempting to hide or try to distract from the mistake, but even three glasses of champagne cause enough trouble for me not to rush to cover it up. That will only make me look guilty, which I am, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Warner doesn’t blink, not showing any doubt of who I am or that I exposed myself. “Five million dollars.” He just says it like it’s a buck fifty. To him, it might be. To me, that would be my family’s portion of the building. And he just gave it away like it was nothing.
I drop my leg back down so both my feet are planted on the concrete. Pulling my hand from his, my chest tightens as my stomach turns. “I wanted to know, but I wish I hadn’t asked.” I start down the steps, looking at what feels like a million ahead of me. No fast escape is happening in these shoes.
He walks beside me, his elbow out if I want the help. What I want isn’t his damn arm for support. I want my family to have what they love most—their home and restaurant. And they only want those because we are a part of it. The family is what makes both places special and worth fighting for. But it’s only me, standing in front of Mt. Everest without a jacket or oxygen, no survival skills, and nothing to help me climb that mountain. I don’t stand a chance.
“I didn’t want to tell you, but yeah, you can look it up. It’s not a secret, but I . . .”
I stop and look at him. “You what, Warner?”
“I didn’t want it to come between us.” The earnestness of his expression would melt my cold heart if we were at the apartment. It would even add an air of romance if we were still standing together in front of the war painting. But we’re not. We’re in the middle of Manhattan to celebrate him for handing out millions of dollars like candy.
The wind picks up, and a few strands of my hair escape the spray it had diligently held most of the night. I push it back with my hand so I can see his eyes without interruption. “Listen . . .” I take a breath to calm the choppy waters of my heart. Any other time, I wouldn’t think twice about a rich guy donating money to help good causes, and art is a good cause. But this isn’t any other time. This is a time when my family is on the brink of ruin. The thing is, I have no right to be mad at him, to tell him how to spend his money, even if it is money earned at the expense of working-class families. My family suffering doesn’t mean he owes us anything. I just hoped I could convince him to choose us, to choose good, like he did tonight. To choose me.
There is no choice in front of him. In his concussed head, he already chose me. And he’s not running away. He’s spoiling me with dresses that I could never afford and shoes that I’m sure cost more than my paycheck. Warner held my hand like I belonged at that event, like I belong with him.
Now I feel bad when he’s put in so much effort to make me feel good.
“I’m listening,” he says when my head gets in the way of what was a beautiful night. He takes my hand, holding it like he’s not giving up on me. Why? Why wouldn’t he? I’m a nobody in his world. A pest. A fake. An adversary. “Are you okay?” His Sass.
With the resentment that hurried my getaway dissipating under the truth of what’s happening, my heart pounds for a different reason. I like him. I care about him. I . . . I look away from the warmth of his eyes that make me feel safe, even protected in a city that can be so cold and gray. Inhaling a breath, I hold it only a moment before releasing it along with my feelings. I’m falling for Warner Landers. I’ve fallen for the enemy. Oh God, what am I doing? More importantly, what have I done?