4 Exes の小説・ストーリー

My date was going on (and on) about a high-profile case he’d won for some CEO, and I was seconds away from using the woman at the table behind me as a mental escape hatch. She was telling her friends how her ex had posted another girl with a heart emoji caption, claimed it was her birthday, and said they were cousins—except she knew the girl. She was a senior back in her school days, and definitely not family. I was this close to turning my chair around to hear the full gist when he walked in. Eric. Wearing a perfectly tailored suit—his signature look—he walked like someone who knew the world watched him and didn’t mind. He looked like a CEO from one of those ridiculously good romance novels

one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two three four five one two

"Hmm, you aren't so important then if I don't remember you." "Bethany!" Caleb exclaimed harshly. "You're speaking to my wife!" I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly, “so? Not like she's some sort of goddess or is she?" Unconsciously I pull out a cigarette from my pocket to smoke. "She's my wife, my partner and my assistant if I were you I'd respect her." I blew out smoke. "we'll see bout that show me to my room already, hope it's painted white and black though and I hope one part of the wall was left blank."

Millicent's POV Mrs. Hernandez's corner store smells like dust and cilantro and the particular mustiness of a building that's been standing since before any of us were born. We're crammed in the back room between shelves of canned goods and cleaning supplies, a group of people who have nothing in common except the red demolition notices taped to our doors. I count twelve bodies. Twelve business owners. Twelve families. Twelve futures hanging by a thread. Marcus speaks first. He owns the hardware store three doors down from my studio, a big man with rough hands and a voice like gravel. "This is a waste of time."