Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
It looks like a company by the name of Atterir Limited recently discovered the land the sanctuary stands on is ownerless and claimed it for its own.
Well, Atterir Limited, hold my beer.
Chapter 41
EVIE
Maven Inc. I pull Oliver’s business card from my purse, remembering my mild amusement as he handed it to me weeks ago. I called him a relic, asked if he’d kicked and screamed when his company dragged him into the digital age. He smiled and said, if nothing else, it would save me googling him again. He also said I could drop by the office anytime. He probably had a little afternoon delight in mind.
I hadn’t. Yet. Had sex on his desk. And it’s not happening on my inaugural visit, I decide, as I pull out my phone to call an Uber from Nora’s to take me to swanky Belgravia.
When Nora accused Oliver, my mind said: this land is not worth his time. But shouldn’t I have sprung to his defense? Thought something like, He wouldn’t do that or He’s not so underhanded. Only I know otherwise. He’s never hidden himself from me—I know he’s capable, but that doesn’t mean I think he’s behind the letter or the fence. Not that this makes me feel any better.
I give myself a shake. Mitchell lied to me from the moment we met. At least I know what I’m getting with Oliver. He’s not a devil. Except between the sheets. I love him despite his faults because that’s how love works.
The office building is Georgian, four stories high, with a white stucco facade. If I’d given any thought to what Oliver’s office would look like, this is exactly what I would’ve imagined. No chrome-and-glass tower for him.
I report to the elegant reception desk to hear he’s unavailable. Not not here but not available. I turn away, unsure what the distinction is, and I’m about to call him when I hear my name.
“Eve, hey!” At Fin’s exuberance, I swing around. “How are you?”
He crosses the space in long steps, and I turn my head to receive his kiss, laughing as he moves to kiss the other cheek, and we almost bump noses. “Sorry, I forgot. The European way.”
“We can shake hands, but it seems a little cold blooded, given the news.”
“The news?” I repeat.
“Oliver and you?” he begins in confidential tones, whether because he’s concerned about being overheard or for the sake of my blushes, I can’t be sure. “The big L-word confessions?”
Not my blushes, then.
“Ohmygod.” My words fall in a rush, my cheeks pinking with happiness, not embarrassment. “He told you?”
“Eh.” He shrugs. “Not in so many words. Not that I needed to hear them. It’s so obvious—he’s gone from being regular-level tetchy to next-level asshole, then to sublimely happy.”
I laugh as Fin’s hand gestures make a jolting map of Oliver’s moods.
“Hey, I’m serious. He’s suddenly like this transcendental being.”
“Have you considered the Oliver that’s coming to the office might be an alien . . .”
“He’s something else all right. But what are you doing here? Coming or going?” he adds.
“Going. Oliver isn’t here. Or isn’t available.” My eyes move briefly to the reception desk again. “It was just a visit on the fly, nothing arranged.”
Fin snaps his fingers. “He’s out of the office all day. I remember now. Out of London, in fact.”
“Oh.” He never mentioned it, but then we don’t much talk about his work, though he likes to hear about my day. “No worries. I’ll catch him later.”
“Got time for a coffee?”
“No, that’s fine. You must be busy too.”
“Got time for a coffee? as a pretext for me teasing out all the juicy details Oliver’s not sharing?”
“Nope!” I reply with a laugh.
“So you don’t want to hear how he’s skipping though the office, singing Disney songs, and sniffing tulips?”
“He is so not the skipping type.” I eye the flower arrangement on a nearby table. No cheap and cheerful tulips there.
“But wouldn’t that be something?” Fin says, rubbing the sandy bristles on his chin.
“Something freaky,” I sort of sing under my breath as Fin turns and indicates a nearby door with raised brows.
“That coffee?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “Why not?”
“Fancy,” I murmur as he closes the door behind us. I’m not sure why I say it, other than that it is. It’s not an office—more like an informal meeting room. The room is decorated in muted tones and dark wood, the decor simultaneously masculine and soothing. Abstract art hangs from the walls, a coffee bar taking up the whole back wall.
“How d’you take it?” he asks, standing at the fancy inbuilt coffee machine. “Latte? Cortado? This baby does them all.”
“Flat white, please.”
I take a seat as Fin pushes a couple of buttons, producing a perfect-looking coffee in an elegant white cup and saucer.
He takes a seat opposite me, crossing one long leg over the other. “What’s funny?”