Charles’ damn voice slithered down her spine, whispering all of the ingredients that form a house. Rather than upsetting her, she accepted her posit...on. Somewhere inside, she knew Charles had chosen her to do this for a reason. He was a man who had a clear gameplan for everything he did: this would be no different. Maybe while she built the house, his vision would come to her. Or possibly twenty years from now, as she sat on the back patio overlooking the rushing waves it would come to her. Someone only I had communicated with, on her behalf. The plan was to meet for drinks, see if we liked him, and take things from there. He had agreed to the logic in this. But literally as the train pulled in to London he sent me a text saying he did not want to meet “for chats” but to meet in the hotel room and start fucking straight off. At first this annoyed us, and we texted him back calling the whole thing off. We reached our hotel, bitterly disappointed. Wendy ran a bath. But as she sat in. "Please, can you open the door a little, it's pretty hard to talk like this. "he answered. His voice was polite and friendly sounding so she nudged the door open a crack. She looked up at him. He was very tall. And had a nice face. He looked to be in his late 30's or maybe 40, no more than that. He had brown hair and a long black raincoat over jeans and a black tee shirt. Black boots.He smiled at her as she opened the door. "I'm so sorry to have bothered you so late at night. I'm sure you were. He smiled weakly, took a sip of his coffee and gave me the once over."Well, at least you'll be able to get your wish."I gave him a surprised look. "You mean, you're going to let me staythis way?" Why not?" He shrugged. "It'll help so I won't have to make up excusesto where Angel went." He smiled.I stood there watching him, suddenly feeling strangely warm."Besides, somebody will have to take care of the baby," he repliedsoftly, pushing a stray tear from the corner of his eye.I looked toward the.
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