Total pages in book: 190
Estimated words: 185785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
He smiles big at me. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. How about you? Do you love what you do?” I ask.
He smiles. “I like making money. So yes.”
I laugh. “But, what about job satisfaction?”
“I’m satisfied when I see a healthy bottom line, so yes, I must have job satisfaction.”
I laugh again.
“You have job satisfaction?” he asks.
“I mean, if I had a choice, I’d be a philanthropist, trading my time for good instead of dollars, but you know…” I shrug. “It’s good. It pays the bills; I like the people. The company has been good to me. Especially lately.”
“Yeah?”
“I always go out of my way to save them money, to get products in faster, but out of the blue I got a bonus and a raise when I was feeling pretty low… it was nice to feel appreciated.”
“Good,” he replies. “Sounds well-deserved.”
I beam with pride: I can’t help it. “So, you’re opening a fourth nightclub? That’s pretty awesome. How many more until you decide your empire is complete?”
He shrugs. “Probably get to six, sell the chain, and try something else.”
“Something philanthropic?” I ask, reaching into the wok and stealing a water chestnut, popping it into my mouth.
“It’s not out of the question. I’ll see where I’m at in my life. I have the website, too, under a second company, and if it keeps going how it’s going now, I’ll have plenty of options.”
“Options are good,” I say.
He reaches into the cupboard and grabs two large, white square plates and sets them down on the table. “No lightsabers, but I do have chopsticks.” He fetches and sets out black chopsticks with purple flowers on the edges.
“These are pretty,” I say, carrying his wok over to the island.
“I bought them today. You need me to grab that?” he asks.
“I’m good.” I set it down on a trivet that I’d found while he was prepping.
“Philanthropy is nice, in theory, and I do give plenty of money to charity, but I like to build things. Grow things.”
“So, your next venture could be both,” I tease. “Wells and community gardens in underdeveloped countries?”
“Pot plants,” he shrugs. “Sweat shop.”
I laugh. “Blood diamonds. That kinda thing.”
He barks out a laugh.
“Farmer Killian,” I muse. “Don’t you think that has a nice ring to it?”
He chuckles. Light is dancing in his green eyes.
“Maybe nicer than Overlord Killian. Wait, no… I like the Overlord idea better.”
“Ha!” I laugh hard. “I’m a little tipsy, sorry.” I sit at the table. “For real, though, when I was a little girl I wanted to marry a rancher with horses and chickens and grow vegetables and sell them from a little stand at the end of our driveway, chickens running around all over the place.”
He serves me and then himself. I watch as he does.
“Don’t be sorry for feelin’ the wine I’m supplying. You’re cute when you’re tipsy.”
“For now. Until I get all rowdy and stuff,” I warn.
He laughs. “So, chickens, eh? Babies runnin’ around, too?”
“Dunno. I think so. Maybe,” I say with a shrug.
“You against that idea now?”
“Nope. I’m not against anything if I’m with the right person.”
“Sounds like it could be a nice life,” he says, looking down at the wok.
“Dinner looks good. Let’s hope it tastes good and all my wine drinking didn’t muck it all up.”
“If it’s bad, I cooked it,” Killian says.
“Well, I directed you…”
“True,” he says. “Let’s find out if we fucked it up.”
Using his chopsticks, he plucks up a piece of chicken and holds it out for me to taste. Our eyes meet as the chicken moves closer.
My lips part and I manage to semi-daintily (I think; I hope) accept the bite, the whole time sure I’m going to fumble. Somehow I don’t.
I nod and smile with my mouth closed as I chew.
He picks up more chicken between the chopsticks and pops it in his mouth.
“Mm,” he reacts and sticks his thumb up. “We make a good team. Boss me around the kitchen anytime, Dimples.”
I smile again and then I sip my wine and dig into the food.
“So, tell me about your family,” I invite after I swallow my next bite.
He stares at his food and digs around before lifting up some noodles and a sugar snap pea.
And suddenly it feels like a wall has gone up between us. Maybe his family is a sore subject.
It’s about to be too long of awkward silence when he puts me out of my misery. “It’s just me and my younger brother. How about you?”
There’s a dark look on his face that tells me he doesn’t want me to continue along that line of questioning and the air feels heavy.
“Um, I have a younger brother, too, Cody. He’s in high school. My parents live about twenty minutes from here. Dad’s got a little auto shop and Mom is an accountant. Ordinary working-class family.” I shrug.
“You close with them?”