Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
“That’s the best you’ve got? I’m pushing around women?”
“No, you’re not pushing around women today,” I say. “You tried and failed. I can buy my own coffee.” I face the counter. “My usual.”
“Already wrote up your cup,” Jeffrey says. “It should be ready any minute.”
“Thank you,” I say, and while I should just move along, I find myself turning to Mr. Arrogant Asshole because apparently, I can’t help myself. “I’ll leave you with a helpful tip,” I say, “since you’ve been so exceedingly helpful to me today. The phrases ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ are not only Manners 101, but failure to use them will either keep a man single, or make a man single.” And on that note, I move on down the bar, which has a cluster of people waiting on drinks, but thankfully, I spot the corner table I favor opening up. Hurrying that way, I wait for the woman who is leaving to clear her space, and then murmur the “thank you” that Mr. Arrogant Asshole back at the counter doesn’t understand before claiming her seat and placing my bag on the table. Settling into my seat, I have no idea why, but my gaze lifts and seeks out Mr. Arrogant Asshole, who now stands at the counter, talking on his cellphone and oozing that kind of rich, powerful presence that sucks up all the air in the room and makes every woman around look at him. Me included, apparently, which irritates me. He irritates me, and the only way you deal with a man like him is naked for one night, which you end with a pretty little orgasmic goodbye, and that is all. Anything else is a mistake, which I know because I’ve been there, done that.
Once.
Never again.
It’s in that moment, with that thought, that Mr. Arrogant Asshole decides to turn around and somehow find the exact spot where I’m sitting, those piercing blue eyes locked on me. And now he’s watching me watching him, which means I’m busted and probably appear more interested in him than I want to appear. I cut my stare and pull out my MacBook, keying it to life, and just when it’s connected, I hear, “Order for Cat!”
At the sound of my name, I eye one of the regulars, a twenty-something encroaching on thirty, who got fired from his job and started some consulting business. “Kevin,” I say, and when he doesn’t look up, I raise my voice. “Kevin!”
His head jerks up. “Cat,” he says, blinking me into view.
I point to my table and the coffee bar. He nods. I push to my feet and, not about to cower over Mr. Arrogant Asshole, who is now standing at the bar with his back to me, I charge forward. I’m just about to step to his side and grab my drink when he faces me, holding two drinks, one of which he offers to me. “Your drink,” he says.
I purse my lips, refusing to be charmed. “Thank you.” I pause for effect and add, “But you’re still an asshole.”
His lips, which I notice when I shouldn’t, because he really is an arrogant asshole, curve. “You have such good manners,” he comments.
“My mother taught me right. Manners and honesty.”
“I won’t argue the accuracy of your statement, considering the fact that I was an asshole.”
“Well, good,” I say, curious about this turn of events. “We agree on something.”
His eyes light with amusement. “I’d apologize, but then this would be over.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“Meet me here in the morning and we’ll negotiate the terms of my apology.” He steps around me, and I whirl around to face his back.
“You’re an attorney, aren’t you?” I say, because I know the lingo, the style, everything about this man. And I am, in fact, a Harvard graduate attorney myself, as are two of my three brothers and my father. Them by choice, me by pressure that I stopped caving into two years ago next week.
He stops walking and rotates to face me now. “Yes, Cat. I am. Which means that you can handle Manners 101 and I’ll handle Negotiation 101.” He smiles—and it’s one hell of a smile—before he turns and walks away.
I watch him disappear in the crowd, knowing I have two options: Forget him or show back up. This is crazy. Men like that one are trouble, and I don’t like trouble, so why the heck am I staring after Mr. Arrogant Asshole? I’m not meeting him. End of story.
Shaking off any other thought, I walk back to my table and glance at the computer screen, where I’ve typed “Mr. Hotness,” and decide that hot little blog post is half the reason that Mr. Arrogant Asshole was able to get to me. I’m not meeting him. Of course, if I did, I’d do so with the understanding that trouble can be managed, and in this case, in his case, that would be with a dirty, rich one night stand.