Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 76984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Yes, I have attention issues. No, I’m not on meds.” I shook my head and did the unthinkable: I laughed. Not just a quick gaff, but one that started deep down inside me. It felt foreign, but good at the same time, using muscles that had likely atrophied.
“Good to know. But I wanted to ask you a question. Game?”
She nodded and rested an elbow on the table, making her jacket stretch at the buttons. To my delight, she unbuttoned them again, giving her more room and me a stellar view.
“How did you know about Peaches & Herb? You’re way younger than me, and it was an oldie during my teen years. It’s ancient now.”
“My mother runs a small bed-and-breakfast back in my hometown. It’s been in our family for years.” She fanned herself and closed her eyes. “I should’ve asked for an iced coffee.”
She peeled off her jacket and draped it over the back of the stool. When she turned around, my eyes landed somewhere between her waist and collarbone. Perfect Cs would be my guess. Though she was petite, she packed some mighty curves.
“Where was I?” Like I could remember after your innocent striptease. “Oh, yeah! My mother played disco music when we cleaned up after checkouts. Thus we listened to Peaches & Herb, Donna Summer, and my favorite, Earth, Wind, and Fire. Once, we timed the cleanups without the music, and it took over ten minutes longer to tidy up the same room.”
“That was in the south, right?” She nodded.
“In a super small town.”
“How long have you been in the city?” She didn’t seem to mind my rapid-fire questions. A seasoned New York woman would’ve told me to get lost after the second one.
“Two months, close to three. I’m working for a startup in midtown called Wilsons. They’re into children’s lifestyles. You’ve probably never heard of it.”
I hadn’t, and I wasn’t about to tell her I was primed to be the CEO of Iron Gate. There was no need to get personal. Dating her was impossible anyway. I’d sworn off that matchmaking ritual years ago. Once a woman peeked under the attractive surface and found what lay beneath, she’d run in the opposite direction.
“I’m not familiar with your company. And who wants to talk business? It’s my day off.”
“Fair enough. Is there a Mrs. Herb? I don’t see a ring, so I wondered what she’d think of you saving my life and all?”
“I’m not married, nor do I ever plan to be.”
“Perpetual bachelor. I see. Have you ever been in love?”
I choked on my coffee. Clearing my throat, I eyed her with a touch of contempt at asking such a personal question.
“Once.” I glanced down, fumbling with the lid of my drink, then met her eyes again. One word was all I cared to share.
“She did quite the number on you. I’m assuming it was a she.” She gave me a teasing smile and nudged my arm. Leave it to her to find humor in a dark corner of my life.
“It was a she. And yes, numbers were involved—about seven figures.” I swallowed the rest of my words with the last of my coffee. It was barely even warm. Had we been talking that long?
“Hey, I’m sorry. I was always in detention at school for talking, asking too many questions. Having straight As saved me from getting kicked out, I think. Surprised?”
“By the talking, no. The grades either.” Sure, she had a hyperactive brain, but her wit was quick, and her intuitive side blew me away. “Anyway, it was a long time ago. When I was about your age.”
For the first time since she fell into my arms, neither of us spoke. The silence allowed unwelcome memories to resurface in my mind. Beautiful auburn hair falling over a bare shoulder. Light freckles speckled over cheeks. An ultimatum thrown at me. The family attorneys who rescued me from disaster. I rubbed a hand over my forehead, wanting to wipe away the memories.
She placed her delicate hand on my forearm in comfort, but nothing has helped in over ten years. I resigned myself to a life of “supported” lovers. The word “paid” brought the ugly truth of the relationships too close to home.
“I’ll lighten the mood.” She sat up taller in her chair, removing her hand from my arm. Her touch felt genuine, unique in my world.
“Yes, please do.” I’d had enough reminiscing and wanted to stay in the moment with her.
“You’re the first man who’s touched me in weeks. I’m on a self-imposed boycott of boys, as in guys.” Her green gaze slid over me. “You’re definitely a man, so it doesn’t apply to you.”
“I take it this is new for you?”
“Totally. All my dates have been horrible here. I don’t want my twenties to be the decade I Netflixed and chilled with God knows how many guys. I’d rather work on building a relationship versus hooking up. Not that I’m opposed to the occasional liaison if needed. I’m not a nun.”