Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
I’m more than capable of doing both myself, but I pay her well enough that she can save me from mundane tasks.
“I need you to pick up my dry cleaning,” I say without a shift in my expression. “Drop it off at my apartment before noon.”
There’s no rhyme or reason to the timing, but concise instructions leave little room for misinterpretation.
I’ve never seen her jot down anything I’ve told her to do for me, and yet, she’s never failed to do exactly as asked.
“Is that all, sir?”
Hardly.
“Water my plants while you’re at my home, and check on the schedule for the cleaning crew. They mentioned something about needing to come Thursday, but I want them there tomorrow.”
“Of course. Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Hunt?”
“Arrange a birthday gift for my sister. It will need to be delivered to her in Denver on Friday.” I don’t provide more detail than that because I’m curious to see what Miss Starling will come up with.
“Not a problem.” She glances over her shoulder. “I’ll get back to my desk to answer a few pressing emails sent to you overnight, and then I’ll take care of everything else.”
I have no doubt she will.
CHAPTER THREE
Evie
“What’s that saying about the suit making the man?” A blonde woman standing in front of me glances over her shoulder. “The man who wears those suits must be a special specimen.”
She’s referring to the three suits I’ve been lugging around Manhattan for the past twenty minutes. Sure, they’re custom-made and ordered directly from some big deal tailor in Italy, but they’re also heavy as hell.
I smile at the woman because it’s not her fault Mr. Hunt is just over six feet tall. At times like this, I wish he hovered around the five foot mark like me. It would make for a lighter load because there would be a lot less material.
“He’s something,” I say.
Her gaze wanders over my bare left hand. “Unless he didn’t spring for a ring, he’s not your husband or fiancé.”
I shudder at the thought. Literally. My entire body quakes at the mere suggestion of being married to my boss.
“He’s not either of those.” I shift the clear garment bag containing the suits from one arm to the other. “These belong to my boss.”
Her green eyes skim my face. “You’re not a fan?”
“In no way, shape, or form,” I tell her since she’ll never know Mr. Hunt’s name.
Nodding, she glances at the jeweler we’re both waiting to speak with.
I have business with the man because Mr. Hunt sent me a text message twenty seconds after I picked up his dry cleaning. I swear he put a tracking device in one of the jacket pockets.
The message was concise and got right to his point.
Mr. Hunt: My watch is ready for pick up. Do that before you deliver the dry cleaning to my home. I’ll send you the address of the jeweler.
Since I’m lugging around an extra few pounds in the form of his suits, it took me a minute to respond to him.
Silence is one of my boss’s pet peeves because he sent another text my way a minute later that wasn’t warranted.
Mr. Hunt: Confirm you’re alive, Miss Starling. If not, whoever sees this message first needs to deliver the suits in the phone owner’s possession to the Vidori Capital offices on Fifth Avenue.
I fired back a text laced with a pinch of attitude.
Evie: I’m fine, sir. Thanks for asking. I’ll pick up the watch as requested.
He easily won that round of our mild sparing by shooting me back a quick reply.
Mr. Hunt: I wasn’t asking. Guard the suits and the watch with your life.
“I’m Lottie.” The woman in front of me turns and takes the extra step of introducing herself. “Lottie Rushing.”
“Evie Starling,” I offer with a nod of my chin. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Her gaze darts back to the counter where the jeweler is engaged in a conversation with a man. The clock is ticking closer to my noon deadline to get the suits to Mr. Hunt’s apartment, so I can only hope that Lottie will get her turn to talk to the jeweler soon and she’ll make it quick.
“Are you from New York?” she asks.
It’s a common question. I told my mom it was an icebreaker when she visited me three months ago, and two people asked her that very question when she was sightseeing in Times Square.
I wanted to join her, but Mr. Hunt wouldn’t give me the time off. I learned my lesson that day. Cleo told me to always file my requests for a personal day with Baden.
I wasn’t sure that advice was accurate, but my employment contract backed her up. There is indeed a clause on the third page about submitting a request for time off to any of the partners of the firm. That’s the move I’ll make the next time my mom is in Manhattan.