Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
I take a deep breath and straighten the wraparound ties on my white linen sleeveless blouse. It has no buttons, and I’m second-guessing this decision immediately.
When I picked it out of my closet it felt so right. So sophisticated and timeless. And paired with the dark, skinny jeans, it’s also casual enough for a daytime trip.
But I dunno. It’s sexy too. And even though I’m wearing a cream-colored lace bra, I can still see the outline through the linen.
“Too late to change now,” I mutter. Then I force a smile and pull the door open.
Mercer looks me up and down, from my wedge espadrilles to the thick-framed white sunglasses on top of my head.
I take this chance to do the same to him. He’s wearing light brown pants and a light blue button-down—left open—and a white t-shirt underneath. It’s a smart look, especially on his hard, lean body.
He smiles at me. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Oh. Thanks. You’re… looking good as well.”
He grins. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah. Let me get my bag—”
But he’s already reaching for the handles of my canvas duffle on the floor at my feet. “I got it.”
“OK.” I suck in another deep breath, grab my little purse, and step past him. He closes the door behind us and then puts his free hand in the small of my back, directing me the opposite way from how I usually walk.
“I’m parked back here.”
“Parked?”
“We’re not walking to the marina, Nova.”
“Oh. Good. It’s hot out today.”
He just shoots me a sideways grin. “You packed light.”
“I have a dress, though. For tonight.”
“I’m not objecting, Nova. I’m actually impressed.”
“Oh.” God. Why am I so nervous? My stomach is jittery and my whole body feels like it’s buzzing. This isn’t a date. It’s a… well. I’m actually not quite sure what it is. A working weekend, I think.
Meeting the mother, Nova?
Yeah. My British internal monologue is right. But he explained it. He just wants a buffer. I’m… the fake girlfriend.
Isn’t that a date?
“No.”
“What?” Mercer laughs.
“Oh. I was just thinking.”
“You’re not impressed with your light packing?”
Luckily, I don’t have to answer him because we come out of the little ivy-covered alleyway between the cottages and there is a convertible sports car waiting on the path. It’s very compact and blue. That’s pretty much all I see. But even my inexperienced eye can tell that this is some sort of super-expensive classic.
Mercer leads me over to it, drops my bag in the space behind the seats where his also sits, then opens the passenger door for me. Which is actually on the wrong side because it’s right-hand-drive, so yeah. Expensive, foreign sports car.
I get in and say, “Thank you,” when he closes my door. Then I watch him walk around the front of the car, lowering his aviator sunglasses as he goes.
I lower mine as well, then look straight ahead when he gets in, starts the car, and revs the engine. “We don’t have a lot of cars here on the island but I like to keep this one here just in case,” he says.
“It’s nice.” I pat the dashboard as he backs out and then pulls away. “What is it?”
“’63 Shelby Cobra. Have you heard of it?”
“No.”
He laughs. And when I look over at him, I realize he looks different today. Very different. No suit. Smiling. Laughing. Driving a sports car. He looks… delicious. “It’s tied for favorite with my ’64 Ford GT40.”
“You have more than one car like this?”
“I have one at each home.”
“How many homes do you have?”
“Mmm.” He thinks. “Five. Here, of course. Boston, New York, LA—which I should really sell because I never go there. And Palm Beach. I should sell that one too. I’m not fond of the heat. But my mother gave it to me after my father died. He loved that stupid beach house. And so… yeah.” He side-grins me again. “Can’t quite bring myself to get rid of it. But before you judge me, I obviously live in this one full-time, I go to Boston at least once a month for Mother’s dinner, and the New York house is actually part of the foundation.”
“What foundation? The Institute?”
“Correct. It’s in the legacy. So no matter what, I can’t get rid of the New York house.”
“You have a fascinating life, Mercer.”
“Thank you. And by the way”—he glances over at me just as the marina comes into view—“it wasn’t a throwaway comment. You really are gorgeous. I like the blouse.”
I blush. I’m not even sure why I blush because he didn’t say it in a way that implies anything.
“Here we are.” He parks and gets out, walking quickly around the front of the car so he can open my door. Then he lends me a hand, since the sports car is low to the ground, and helps me up and out.
“Thanks,” I say. “You have very nice manners.”