Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“I see.” There it is again—that barely there softening. I don’t think he realizes it’s happening, but I want to see more of it. “She reminds me of Aunt Clara. Strong willed and lovably eccentric.”
I smile. “That’s the best description of Gran I’ve ever heard.”
It’s sweet that underneath his gruffness he actually seems to like and respect my grandmother after such a short meeting.
But I shouldn’t be thinking he’s sweet at all, should I?
Although if we’re going to fake it for a few months, we can at least try to like each other and get along.
Before we can say anything else, though, the car stops on the curb.
We’re close enough to the Seattle–Bainbridge ferry that I can see the glinting water through the window, just past the cluster of high-end boutique shops surrounding us on all sides of the street.
Although I know the neighborhood, shopping here has never been in my budget, except for that one time Mom and Dad sent home a big cash envelope for my sixteenth birthday and told me to buy the nicest dress I wanted for homecoming.
I wound up going to homecoming alone. Lena did too.
We went to a bonfire with a bunch of our friends and got stupid drunk and cried over finals and bad breakups. We had the best night of our lives before waking up hungover the next day.
Bad decision?
Yes.
But I still remember that night with a fond smile.
Back then the shops here were swank. Now they’re couture and European—very high fashion.
I already feel like I don’t belong in my cute cuffed jeans and clumpy Doc Martens, my pretty lavender shirred sweater, and my mangled military-style grey canvas jacket with artsy patches all over it.
Then again, some trendy designer would probably take one look at what I’m wearing and call it boho, then sell it for ten times what I originally paid.
“So, what’s our budget?” I stare up at the sign on the shop closest to the curb.
“Budget?” August asks dryly. “Miss Lark, I could buy the entire store. Don’t bother looking at the prices; just focus on finding what makes you look—acceptable.”
I notice that pause before the last word.
He stops and makes a low, almost embarrassed sound deep in his throat.
I glance at him with a smirk. “You were about to say something insulting, weren’t you?”
“I was not,” he insists so firmly that he most definitely was. “Your style suits you. It simply doesn’t suit me for this arrangement.”
“Oh, okay. And if I’m going to be your arm candy, I’ve got to match the rest of your accessories, right?” Laughing, I reach for the door handle. “C’mon. Let’s go make me look like I could actually attract some rich pill like you, and then you can make your big meeting on time.”
The door latch clicks, but before I can push it open, I feel it again—that long, warm hand wrapped around my wrist. The calluses on his fingertips brush my pulse like he’s trying to fan sparks into flame, searing my blood.
I have to stop and remind myself this isn’t real.
Sure, I’ve thought he was hot since the moment I saw him on the plane.
But this man is completely indifferent to me, and as far as he’s concerned, I’m about as attractive as a ruffled legal document.
I’m surprised he hasn’t made me sign anything in blood yet.
When I swallow dryly and look back, he lets me go quickly, like he hadn’t even realized what he was doing.
“Miss Lark?” He brushes his hand lightly against his slacks.
I glare at him. I’ve had enough of this uptight Miss Lark thing.
“Elle,” I correct.
“Miss Lark,” he repeats.
“Elle,” I hiss.
His brows set. I swear to God, he looks like a stubborn bison who’s just stepped onto the highway and won’t move.
My mouth opens again, but he speaks first.
“Eleanor,” he concedes, almost under his breath.
“Nope. That’s not good enough.” I fold my arms over my chest and lift my chin. I’m not going into the store until he says it. “Elle. Say it, August.”
“On one condition.” Another of those long sighs that tells me I’m driving him insane rolls out, and it feels like victory.
“Conditions already? Such a businessman.” Groaning, I flop back against the seat. He’s probably going to tell me to always call him sir or something like that.
Which. Hey. If that’s his kink, I could get into it, but I doubt that’s the case.
“Lay it on me, boss man.” I roll my eyes.
He pauses.
“The ring,” he says softly. “We’ll be seen together in public. You should be wearing it.”
Oh.
Oh, crap.
I’d almost forgotten all about it in my pocket.
I haven’t even tried it on.
For all the heavy meaning and expense, he might as well have gotten it for a quarter out of one of those toy machines with fake princess rings in plastic bubbles.
I slip the little velvet ring box out of my pocket. I never expected that putting it on would feel like signing away my soul.