Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“Not luck, hard work,” Dominic corrected. “I’ve had my share of dumpster views, too.”
I cut into my steak. Medium rare, just like I liked it. Perfectly seasoned. I enjoyed a few bites before I followed up on what he’d said. “You mean before you started your company?”
He paused like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to answer the question. Then, almost reluctantly, he said, “My parents died when I was a teenager. My sister, Marjorie, raised me after that. They didn’t leave much.”
I was so surprised by this voluntary sharing of personal information that I didn’t know what to say for a moment. I’m sorry seemed too trite. “That must have been…” I shook my head, unable to finish the sentence. There were no words. Suddenly my comment about being emotional orphans sounded flippant.
“It was,” Dominic agreed emotionlessly. His gaze went to the view, and he tapped a finger on his wine glass a few times, disturbing the smooth ruby surface of the liquid without seeming to notice he was doing it. The glow of the naked bulbs strung in loops across the the patio gave him a golden glow that did nothing to relieve the hardness of his features.
He was so still and silent. I fought the insane urge to reach across the table and skim my hand over the hard pane of his cheekbone to see if it was still soft, warm skin or whether he had turned to stone.
With what looked like great effort, Dominic refocused on me and gave his familiar wintry smile. “But then I started Marks Wealth Management and left the dumpster views behind.”
I smiled because it seemed like he wanted me to, but my heart was still aching for him. “You named the company after Jake’s dad.”
Dominic shrugged his broad shoulders, even his cold facsimile of a smile slipping away. “I couldn’t very well name it White Wealth Management.”
I almost choked on my wine as he surprised a laugh out of me. When I got a hold of myself, I caught him watching me, a small, satisfied smile on his face. Like he was pleased with himself for making me laugh. The smile faded as our eyes locked. My heart skipped up in tempo again as neither of us broke eye contact. The night had been balmier than anyone had a right to expect in mid-November, but now I felt actual heat flowing between us. Wrapping around us like the golden glow from the exposed bulbs. It was like a current trying to draw us together, but while I would have happily drifted toward Dominic, I could feel the tense resistance radiating off him.
“Anyway,” he said, his eyes sliding past me to the view again. “Bryan was a good man. He never tried to replace my father, but he was always there for me.”
“Just like you were for Jake,” I murmured.
Dominic nodded. “I tried to be. I still do.”
“You succeed.”
Dominic took a deep breath, a grim light coming into his eyes. “Which is why I have to ask you something that’s probably going to piss you off.”
Bewildered by the sudden turn the conversation had taken, I waited for him to go on. I half expected him to go back to the topic of Thanksgiving, but instead he said, “What does your sister want with Jake?”
“What does she want?” I repeated slowly. “What is that supposed to mean?” A cold suspicion was working its way through the golden glow.
“You know what I mean,” Dominic said impatiently. He turned the full force of his grim gaze on me. “She’s pregnant. I assume the father isn’t taking responsibility?”
“You assume right,’ I said, my voice brittle. “But we don’t need him – or anyone – to take responsibility. We’re handling it.”
“I know. That’s why you needed to move back to LA. But even on your salary, having a baby in LA is hard.”
Everything Dominic was saying was true. It was common sense. If anyone else had been saying it, I wouldn’t have sensed a darker meaning beneath it. But it was Dominic, and he’d invited me over here for a reason.
And now, underneath his bland words, I heard what that reason was.
“And you think that Christi sees Jake as a way to make it easier,” I said slowly. The golden glow was completely gone now. All I felt was the cold, ugly, metallic taste of Dominic’s suspicions. The wine turned sour in my mouth. My stomach turned like I’d eaten a hamburger out of the dumpster beneath our window instead of a prime piece of filet mignon.
Dominic shrugged again, as though the answer didn’t particularly matter. As if it had just occurred to him and he thought he might mention it. Hey, is your sister a gold-digging whore?
“You are – ” again, words failed me. I couldn’t think of anything bad enough to call him. Asshole didn’t even come close. I set my wine down carefully to keep from throwing it at him, then curled my fingers tightly in the napkin in my lap to keep from clawing at his arrogantly handsome face.