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)
That means she likely caught a glimpse of this image, too.
Since I have no logical reason for taking a picture of her, I’ll pretend it doesn’t exist until she brings it up.
In fact, I’ll delete it now.
My thumb hovers over the trashcan icon on my screen that will suck the image into the ether forever.
All I have to do is press it, but…
Shaking my head, I close the photo app and toss my phone on my bed.
“I’ll delete it later,” I say to myself as I head toward my bathroom. “I definitely will.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Reid
It took zero effort on my part to avoid talking about Evie over breakfast with Baden this morning.
A client he’s been trying to land did that for me. Typically, Baden isn’t all in on the weekends like I am, but he took a call just as breakfast was being delivered, and after shoving half of a bagel into his mouth in three solid bites, he took off.
I did the same shortly after, but I took a walk instead of doing what I always do – going to the office.
Now, I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of Evangeline’s building, wondering what my next move should be.
I want to discuss balancing our work dynamic with our unexpected roles of maid of honor and best man.
I see a big payday at the end of this, and if I’m going to make that happen, I need my assistant on board.
“Mr. Hunt?” Evangeline’s voice comes from somewhere behind me.
I turn instantly to find her wearing a pink sundress. In her hands are two fabric shopping bags overflowing with fruits and vegetables.
I reach for both. “Let me help you with those.”
There’s just a touch of resistance from her before she lets me take the handles of the bags. They have some weight to them, so I grin. “Did you buy half the market?”
Her lips part in a soft smile. “There’s a watermelon in one and two cantaloupes in the other.”
“All for you?” I question because although I overheard her tell Cleo she lives alone, I have no idea if there’s a boyfriend or lover in the picture.
She offers me a brisk nod. “I like melons. Do you?”
If I was fourteen and with my friends at the outdoor public pool we used to frequent in the summers, I’d get a good chuckle out of that question, but I’m thirty-two-years-old, so I steal a quick glimpse of the shape of her ample tits in that dress and then clear my throat. “I’ll help take these up to your apartment.”
She steps in front of me to block my path to the entrance of her building. “Why?”
That same panicked expression that was stuck on her face for most of last night lands there again. If I’m going to get my hands on Azelius Spas and Emmel’s, I need her on board, so I put her fears to rest yet again. “As I said last night, Evangeline, your job is safe. I want to talk about Charlotte and Randall.”
Her shoulders reveal her relief when they fall slightly. “What about Lottie and Randall?”
Before I can answer, she’s tugging on the front of my T-shirt. “Move this way a bit, sir.”
I step in the direction she’s indicating to let two women pushing strollers pass by.
It’s not lost on me that she doesn’t let go of the shirt.
“You’re dressed differently,” she whispers, taking in the design printed on the front of the shirt and the faded jeans I tugged on after my shower. “You like hockey?”
I do like hockey, and the shirt’s not bad either. It’s one of the few casual items of clothing I own. An old friend from high school played on the New York Falcons for a few seasons before a career-ending injury sent him to a position in their corporate office.
The NHL team has proven they’re a force to be reckoned with. The T-shirt was a bonus gift when I purchased season tickets a few years ago. I don’t wear it often, but I didn’t see the effort in putting on a suit today since I had only one task on my to-do list, and that’s talking to Miss Starling.
“I have season tickets,” I blurt out.
A smile curves her mouth. “Shut up.”
Before I can respond, her eyes have widened and her hand has jumped to cover her lips. “Oh my God, sir. I’m so sorry.”
I’m not.
This exchange is not what I expected when I set out to find her, but I’m loving every second of it.
“I don’t strike you as the type of man who buys season tickets?” I ask, suppressing a chuckle. “Or do you view me as someone who doesn’t like sports in general?”
She eyes me from head to toe. “Do you jump up and down when they score?”
“Only if no one is watching me,” I say with a straight face.