Page 75 of Perfect Assumption

Angela

Jenna Madison was spotted strutting in Dublin wearing the most gorgeous pair of boots. I wanted to scratch her eyes out before I stole them off her feet.

— Moore You Want

“Hello?”

“Sula?”

“Hey.”

“I just wanted to tell you that you were right.”

“About what?”

“About everything.”

There’s such a long silence on the other end of the line, I wonder if I’ve hung up on her. I pull the phone away from my ear to check.

“Does this mean you told him and he understands?” she asks carefully.

I stare out across the yard of the home that became my safe haven. “No. It means I know I have to.”

“Thank God. What made you come to that conclusion?”

I think back to the last week of subtle pursuit from Ward. “Nothing overwhelming.”

“That tells me nothing.”

“Coffee every morning. A flower waiting in my chair. Lunch catered in for two in his office from my favorite pizza joint that doesn’t deliver. Meeting him out for dinner where he’s rented out the entire restaurant.”

“Whoa. How did that not make the papers?” Sula’s shock is evident.

“He snuck in the back door.”

“For a guy who’s never been linked with a woman, ever, I’d say he’s awfully serious about you. That’s a ridiculous amount to spend on a date, Angie.”

“I said something similar.”

“To which he replied?”

“I was worth it.”

“You are,” she declares loyally before adding, “But I’m liking the fact he thinks so as well.”

My mind drifts, remembering the tiny little Chinese restaurant above Fifth Avenue where Ward was waiting for me with a single yellow rose. He waved off my question like it was nothing. “It’s just money. The real treasure is getting to spend time with you.”

Sula calling my name yanks me back to our call. My voice is jagged. “Too many years have passed where I let someone else be the judge over my worth. It’s time that comes to an end. It’s just…”

“What? It’s just what, Angie?” Her voice is filled with nerves, likely afraid I’m going to back out.

I’m can’t. I’m too far down a path I never thought I’d travel. Inhaling sharply, I ask, “What do I say? How do I tell him I was attacked?”

“You don’t tell him anything more than you’re comfortable with. Do you hear me? Not one damn thing. You are under no obligation to go into details you don’t want to. You only share what you feel is important for Ward to know. And you make him understand the reason you’re sharing this is because he’s becoming an invaluable part of your life,” she stresses, quoting my psychologist.

“He is,” I admit.

There’s a little war whoop on the other end of the line. My lips kick up a bit as I imagine Sula dancing around her flat.Her downstairs neighbors must love her, I think wryly.