Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96720 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“Let’s go with the last one,’ I suggested, feeling deeply useless during this adventure.
At the checkout, I watched her eye the rising total with increasing agitation. Surely, she was aware that we could afford a few groceries. I handed over my credit card and the cashier looked at the black plastic, then at me.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Just don’t see these every day.” She handed it back and gestured to a card reader on a stand. “Run it through there.”
I noted Charlotte’s smirk but did not dignify it with a strong facial reaction. I simply said, “I know how to use one of these,” and ran the card.
We were loading the groceries into the backseat of the car when I asked, “What did she mean about not seeing a credit card every day?”
“I think she meant she didn’t see people buying groceries with a black card every day.” Charlotte snickered and secured a bag on the floor. “What’s funny is, you’re a billionaire buying groceries on credit. Whenever I’ve done that, it’s because I’ve been short on cash.”
“Well, you caught me.” I opened the passenger door for her. “Now you know that I don’t grocery shop for myself every week.”
When we got home, we carried our own bags. She did most of the carrying, as one of my arms was occupied with my cane.
“Let me call someone down,” I insisted, watching as she helplessly struggled to balance a third paper bag atop the two in her arms.
“No!” she huffed. “It doesn’t count if we do it that way. Plus, if I can get it all in one trip, it’s a victory.”
Upstairs, she unpacked the bags with increasing glee. “Isn’t this fun?”
“So far, it’s taken an hour to get the things we need to even begin to make dinner, and I’m exhausted.” I was beginning to appreciate my wealth even more.
“Exactly. Fully normal. I feel like I’m in my element.” She hopped up on her toes and kissed my cheek before scanning the kitchen and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “We need stuff. Salt, pepper, a frying pan… but I have to pee. Do you mind getting started?”
“Not at all.” I gave her a kiss on the forehead and waved at her as she left the room. Then, I turned to all the stuff on the counter. And I panicked.
Salt, pepper, those were simple, right? I started opening drawers until I found tiny, shallow bowls for a mis en place. I poured out salt and pepper, then found bigger bowls for the yogurt, the pre-made guacamole, and a prep board. There was something about the limes…
“Hey, I—” She came to a halt at the end of the island. I hadn’t even heard her come back.
“You said zest.” I held up a lime helplessly. “What is that?”
She looked over the bowls I’d carefully arranged like a little prep station. “Usually, you can scoop everything out of the containers without dirtying a bowl. For future reference.”
“Noted.” I probably would have thought of that, if I ever did my own dishes.
I wouldn’t point that out to her.
But she didn’t need me to. “It’s not like you would have thought of it. You don’t do your own dishes. At least, you don’t leave your clothes and your used condoms on the ground or expect your staff to clean your sex toys. I read a book once where that happened and let me tell you: D. N. F.”
“Gross. I would never want someone else cleaning my sex toys. Except for at Ascend Red. But those people know how to get into all the nooks and crannies.” I paused. “What’s the acronym about?”
“Hmm?” She scanned her memory while she opened the spinach wraps. “Oh. DNF. Did not finish. It’s what you say when you don’t finish a book, and you don’t want people to think you’re a quitter.”
“Ouch. I don’t finish books all the time. I’m not a quitter.”
“I didn’t say you were. But some people have that attitude like, you couldn’t have stuck with it? And no, I couldn’t. My time, while rarely dedicated to things like employment or any other worthwhile pursuit, is too valuable to me to waste it on a bad book.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I won’t turn off a bad movie. Isn’t that strange?”
“Not really.” What was strange was the sheer volume of information about Charlotte and her personality that I was discovering by preparing a meal with her. My previous relationships hadn’t been like that, at all.
Of course, my past relationships hadn’t been like this one. Not everyone had come from wealth or the upper social strata, but they’d all whole-heartedly embraced my lifestyle. They’d relished the private chef, the household chores being taken care of for them, the fancy restaurants instead of hot dog carts. My money hadn’t been a problem for them, but a bonus.