Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
His eyes dance with mischief as he watches me. “You’re right, you are refreshingly honest, Miss Brielle.”
I smile.
“If not a little forward,” he adds.
“I could say the same for you, but I don’t see how when I was last with a man has anything to do with my character.”
“It gives me an insight into the kind of life you live.”
I think on it for a moment. "Well, if that's the case, I'm sorry to report that I live the most boring life imaginable, because I haven't thought about a man or been with a man for over twelve months."
“I see,” he murmurs, seemingly impressed with my answer.
"Mr. Masters, I know I may be a busybody, but I can assure you that I am not here to steal your things or fight with your daughter. I'm here to do a great job for you for twelve months, and hopefully find myself in the process."
He narrows his eyes and sits back in his seat. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
I sip my drink as I contemplate my answer. “I’m going to see the country, learn about its history, and spend my weekends with Emerson.” I shrug. “You never know, I may meet a man and have some fun while I’m here, too.”
“And exactly what does that entail?” he asks, bemused.
This man is so intelligent that I have no idea if he’s genuinely interested in the answer to these questions, or if he’s really just being condescending.
“I’m not sure. All I know is that if I really knew what I needed, I would have gone out and found it at home.”
His eyes hold mine.
What the hell is he is thinking?
“Hmm.” He hesitates for a moment. “Tell me about your visa.”
I exhale heavily and sip my rocket fuel. It’s so strong, the fumes go up my nose and I have another coughing fit. “How do you drink this?” I splutter as I pound my chest with a closed fist.
“Takes the edge off.” He smirks.
“Off of what?” I continue to cough. “What edge is this sharp?” I wince.
He chuckles, a deep velvety sound that seeps into my bone marrow, and I feel my heart flutter.
He’s just so…
He arches an eyebrow and I realize that he’s waiting for my answer. “Oh, the visa?” He raises his glass impatiently. God, he really does think I'm dense. “Will you please stop that?” I snap.
“Stop what?”
“The condescending looks and quips.”
A trace of a smile crosses his face “My apologies.”
I drain the rest of my glass and I hold it out for a top up. I have no idea what I’m doing here, but sweetening him up while drinking scotch seems to be a perfect plan.
He refills my glass, and then I sip my drink, simply watching him for a moment. “Do you always do this?”
“Do I always drink scotch with my nannies and get reprimanded for answering their questions? No.”
“So, you’re a scotch nanny virgin?”
This time it’s him who chokes on his drink as he laughs. “Most definitely. A nanny virgin, anyway. Not so much a scotch virgin.”
I smile broadly. For some reason I like that answer. “See? We’re getting along fine now. This is all going to work out.”
“This is not working out. This is a pleasant distraction.”
My face falls. “Oh.”
His brows furrow. “Please don’t take this personally, but you’re just not what I expected, Brielle.”
“What did you expect?”
He shrugs. “Someone older, experienced, more professional.”
I think for a moment. “The ad didn’t request any of that.”
He sips his scotch and rolls his eyes. “My mother put the ad in with the agency.”
“Your mother?” I frown.
He smirks around his glass. “You seem surprised.”
“Well, I didn’t take you as a mummy’s boy.”
He laughs that velvety laugh again, and I feel it deep in the pit of my stomach. “Not by any means. But she is concerned about Willow, and she wanted to take care of this placement and for us to try something different.”
I smile goofily. “Well…I am different.”
“That you are.”
“Just give me another chance, please?” I plead. “We got off on the wrong foot, sure, but I promise you I will turn this around.”
His eyes hold mine.
“If, in three weeks, you’re still not happy, I’ll get another job in a bar or something, but please don’t get me deported before I have a chance to find another job. I’ve been saving for this trip for twelve months.”
He watches me.
“Please…”
He inhales sharply. “Fine, you have twenty one days. But next time I fire you, don’t beg me to stay.”
I shake my head. “I won’t.”
“Because next time I won’t be pushed over so easily.”
I nod. “Fine, but you have to promise not to give me this truth serum again.” I hold up my glass of scotch.
“Truth serum?”
“I’m quite sure if you asked me anything right now, I would have no choice but to give it to you straight.”