Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56970 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Scott’s face pales.
“I don’t need your job. I need good people in my life. Excuse me while I see my friend is okay, and leave.”
I storm inside to Damon, who is drying his hand, a naughty dimple deepening in his cheek. When he looks up at me, his expression quickly turns to pain. He winces and cradles his poor hand.
I hesitate.
Scott is chasing me, though, so I don’t dwell on it. “Let’s get out of here, Damon.”
Immediately, Damon turns off the oven and walks over to me.
“Wait.” Scott says, touching my shoulder. “Please?”
Damon narrows his eyes, but I tell him to wait in the car. He leaves reluctantly, and I face Scott. “Yes?”
Scott drops his head. “I’m sorry. That was shitty of me. I was chastising myself the whole time in my head, I just . . . that guy is gorgeous, and every time you look at him . . . your eyes got soft and . . . I thought you were here for me.”
“I was here for you.”
“Really?”
“Please note the past tense.”
He sighs and looks in the direction Damon left. “I hope he’s all right.”
I have a sneaky feeling he might be.
“I know I messed this up,” Scott says, “but take the job?”
“You haven’t tried the pastries.”
“There are no other candidates, Leon. It was an excuse.”
An excuse. Oh.
“I’m not asking for a second chance—I know when it’s a lost cause—but I’d like forgiveness.” Scott smiles, gazing at me hopefully. “What do you say?”
Damon lounges in the passenger seat, drumming his fingers on the door. “You do remember you aren’t an actual caterer?”
“I had to accept. He looked all sad and sorry for acting like an arse. Speaking of . . .” I pick up his hands and investigate them. “No burn marks.”
Damon’s eyes dart everywhere. The driveway, the neat lawn, the sleek glass turret. The sea beyond.
“No cut, either.” That dimple! “Damon, what were you up to?”
“He kept looking at your skirt.”
“Like you are?”
“He kept looking like he wanted to peek under it.”
“Again, like you are?”
“Yeah, but . . . he was downright creepy.”
“Oh dear God. Damon, stop smiling so smugly. You played me in there.”
“I’m sorry. Sort of. Not really.”
“You might want Scott to teach you a thing or two about apologies.”
Damon rubbed his jaw, scowling towards the mansion. “I didn’t like him ogling you. I want that privilege all to myself.”
As flirting goes, this line is rather working on me. I bite down on a smile and shake my head. “When will you give up on me?”
“I want too many things for that.”
“If I don’t give them to you?”
“I’ll be very sad.”
I roll my eyes. Sooner or later he’ll get bored, like everyone else. Until then . . . I don’t exactly hate his attentions.
But I will try harder at self-control.
Damon dazzles me with a smile.
I will try a little bit to maintain some self-control.
I start the car. “Let’s pick up Tommy, then I’ll drop you off at the tea rooms to help Hailey.”
He looks at me, amused. “I thought you were helping Hailey?”
“You volunteered the moment you meddled with my date.”
“Fair enough. Have a blast changing all those dirty nappies.”
“I have Mum.”
“Your mum’s spending the day with Mar.”
“On second thought,” I say, steering us out of Scott’s street, “we’ll join you at the tea rooms.”
Chapter Eleven
I’m all over the place. Distracted.
It’s partly the demands of entertaining Tommy in the tea room kitchens. (He’s cloaked in a fine layer of flour from head to foot.)
Partly admiring Damon as he helps Hailey man the coffee machines and manage customers.
But mostly the sludgy anticipation of meeting Karl again.
Signing away my villa won’t be my biggest problem. It’ll be sitting across from him knowing what he truly thinks of me. What all of our—his—friends think. My biggest problem is the fear he’s right.
Hailey passes us to heat some scones and bops Tommy playfully on the nose, making him giggle. I try it next, and receive a blank stare.
Laughter curls around my neck. Damon settles his chin against my shoulder and reaches around me to tickle Tommy.
“What am I doing wrong?”
“He’s still sussing you out, that’s all.”
I poke my tongue out at Tommy. “We can have fun together, too!”
Damon wraps his arms around my waist and squeezes. “Troy says he won’t wear any pyjamas except for the ones you made. He has his own way of showing he likes you.”
Warmth bubbles up in my stomach, and I pat Damon’s arms to let me go. He does, heading back to the counter, and I ask Tommy if he wants more pyjamas.
He flings his floury arms around my neck.
Hailey removes her heated scones from the toaster oven and heads out of the kitchen, only to come right back in again. She winces and whispers, “Nasty customer.”
Poor Damon deals with that while we hover out of sight.