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)
August just watches me now with that gentleness back in his eyes, that warmth—and a hint of amusement. When I realize he’s been watching me that way the whole time, I recoil and look away, huffing.
“Elle,” he says—soft but pointed.
“Stop looking at me.”
“Elle.”
“What?” I slide a look his way.
August’s brows arch. “You don’t have to apologize for the life you’ve lived. Those mistakes brought you here, didn’t they?”
Here, with him.
It hits me what he’s saying.
In his life, no matter how messy and confusing that may be.
When I look at the water again, my lips curl and don’t stop.
“Yeah. I guess they did.”
“There you are,” he says appreciatively. “Now you’re smiling.”
And blushing. And failing horribly at keeping my heart intact.
I laugh quietly. “You’re kind of sweet sometimes, Auggie.”
Desired effect: achieved.
Now he’s scowling, and I’ve got the upper hand.
“Never say that shit again,” he growls.
I grin. “Sweet. Sweet. Mr. Adorable Gruffykins.”
August throws me a flat, disgusted stare completely undercut by the breeze playfully tossing that one loose lock against his brow. “Are you having a heat stroke? Those are not English words.”
“Very funny, Gruffykins.”
“Stop,” he snarls.
“Why, Gruffyki—oop!”
That noise?
That was me jerking back as the sandwich on the blanket bonks me in the nose.
He threw it back at me!
I narrow my eyes, smirking, and dive for the basket.
I come right up with the pot of chocolate fondue.
“You wanna have a food fight?” I challenge, pulling the lid off. “’Cause I can throw down.”
August blanches. “Do you have any idea how much this suit cost?”
“Do I care?” I dip my finger in the fondue pot, coating it in sticky chocolate.
I stretch my dripping finger toward him. His eyes widen in sheer horror, and he tumbles back on his hands.
“Elle, what are you—Elle. No. No. Bad kitten. Bunny. Whatever you are, don’t you fucking dare! I have meetings today and no time to change!”
“Aw, that’s just begging me to do it,” I tease, darting toward him.
He throws his hands up. “Oh God—”
I stop.
Just a micron short of touching his face.
Then I dab a tiny dollop of chocolate on the tip of his nose before pulling back with a laugh. “Boop.”
August blinks and lowers his arms, setting me off in peals of laughter.
Glowering, he swipes the chocolate off his nose with one finger, then licks it.
“You are impossible.”
“I know, but the look on your face—oh no.”
August dips into the basket and comes up with an entire Tupperware container of coleslaw. He less smiles and more bares his teeth in warning as he eyes me.
“I know exactly how much that dress cost, and I’m not afraid to ruin it.”
Oh, I am not losing this playground fight.
I lift my chin and square my shoulders, making myself a target. “Dare you. In public. Heck, let’s make it fun. Chase me around. I dare you to chase me around with a plastic bin of shredded cabbage in runny mayo. Triple-dog dare you.”
That gets me multiple blinks. I already know I’ve won.
August just laughs.
Any attempt to stop my heart from fluttering away dies as it beats so hard the velvety sound rolls through me.
“Another day.” August sets the coleslaw down on the blanket and reaches into the basket to lift out the plates and utensils. “We should cut the schoolyard shit, eat, and get back to the office. Being the temporary CEO only gives me so many luxuries, and being the creative assistant gives you even fewer.”
I giggle and accept the plate he offers before stealing the sandwich we’ve been using to score points for my plate. I dig out a second, less battered sandwich and offer it to him.
“If a black mark shows up in my employee file, I’m blaming you.”
August actually looks regretful. “I really have tangled you up in my affairs pretty terribly, haven’t I? Fiancée. Employee. Coconspirator. Aunt wrangler.”
“I don’t mind. Do you?” I tilt my head, offering him a chilled can of sparkling water.
His fingers brush mine warmly, lingering as he takes the can and leans back to look out over the water, his lips still curled up at the corners.
“No. Truth be told, woman, I don’t mind it at all.”
XIV
RIDE THE STORM
(AUGUST)
I have no fucking clue what to do with Miss Eleanor Lark.
For once, I’m not ready to pull my hair out when I say that.
I lean back in my office chair, looking out at the late-afternoon skyline.
Seattle is always strange this time of day. The sky wants to be bright and grey at the same time, until an odd smoky haze clings to the horizon and outlines the taller buildings and the tops of the trees. Right before it all melts up into a cool, deep blue that looks almost backlit.
Behind me, my laptop sits ignored. A minute ago I was engrossed in a project proposal Elle posted to the company intranet.
Her proposal was simple—adding a few more new characters to Inky’s collection of friends to help bring him into modern times. The concept art is very similar to my aunt’s, but not quite on point.