Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98021 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
It's the same now.
The slumped posture he corrects the second he notices. The brief frowns. The not quite there teasing.
There is something going on here.
But maybe it's just the wedding. Maybe there's something I don't know about Liam and Preston and Harrison and Lee.
Maybe Liam had a secret affair with Lee.
Or Harrison.
Who knows? I've never heard him express same-sex desires. But I wouldn't be remotely surprised if Liam told me he was open to anyone with a pulse.
And now I'm imagining Liam fooling around with Harrison on the dining table.
And then Harrison disappears from my mental image. And it's me. The two of us, his slacks unzipped, my panties on the floor, his thick cock driving into me again and again.
Fuck.
I take a long sip of my tea. It's a little weak, but it's good. The rich flavor of black tea and the hint of bergamot.
"I used to make French toast with my sister," I say. "We were in love with the dish at this fancy French restaurant."
"Pain perdu?" Preston asks.
"That's it. French toast stuffed with mascarpone and orange marmalade. I tried to make it at home, but I never got it quite right," I say.
"We have orange marmalade." Preston places a ceramic plate in front of me. "We might have mascarpone."
"This is great. Thank you," I say.
Preston beams with pride. He wants to take care of Liam. To take care of Liam's future wife.
He already likes me so much. Even though I wear thick eyeliner and dye my hair purple and absolutely don't fit into his old money, Upper East Side life.
But maybe he's not that person anymore. Maybe he never was. Maybe he inherited the place from his father and he's horrified when he's compared to the man.
The way I am.
Everyone tells me how much I look like my dad. Remind them of my dad. We have the same grey eyes and intense stare.
He's a smart man. Successful. People who don't know about his affairs mean well with the comparison, but it still makes me sick.
Preston finishes passing out plates, then he sits, turns to me, and says, "I know I won't get a straight answer from Liam."
"I'm sure," I say.
"So tell me. How did the most obnoxious man in Manhattan win over someone as beautiful and charming as you?"
Chapter Thirteen
Briar
"What did Liam tell you?" I arrange the sliced strawberries on my toast. Cover them in maple syrup. The rich comfort food is a perfect distraction. I can focus on the sugar to bread ratio, not the lie.
Liam didn't win my hand the way Preston means, but he did win me over.
When I first met Liam, I hated his cocky smile and his confident swagger. I hated how everything fell into his lap and how casually he handled it.
Then I saw the guy under all the bullshit.
I realized the bullshit was well-intentioned.
I started looking forward to seeing him at the office. I started laughing at his jokes and savoring our alone time.
"You know Liam. He can't answer a direct question to save his life," Preston says. "But he talks about you."
"He does?" I ask.
"He thinks I don't notice the way his voice rises. The way his hands go to his cufflinks." Preston models the gesture. "The first time he mentioned you, he lit up."
"What did he say?" I ask.
"He'd hired this woman with purple hair to piss off Simon," Preston says.
I shoot Liam a really look.
He shrugs guilty as charged.
Preston continues, "he was in awe of your wit. He thought it meant you'd be tough enough to put up with him."
"I was right," Liam says.
"And it drove you crazy." Preston chuckles. "He already liked you. I could tell."
"I always liked you," Liam says.
"You never tried anything," I say.
"You had a boyfriend."
"Really? That stopped you?"
Liam's expression gets sheepish. "No. I didn't care."
"What was it then?" I ask.
"I don't mix sex and work," Liam says. "Not usually."
"Why'd you do it this time?" I ask.
His eyes flit to my chest. "Is that a real question?"
"Yes." I'm not sure what I'm asking. What convinced him to ask me to play this role? Or maybe why he wanted me? Why he wants me as the woman on his arm, maybe?
Is it another way to fuck with people?
Liam turns to me. "I had every intention of staying on my best behavior."
"Oh?" I ask.
"But that night in Toronto." He reaches for his coffee. Swallows hard. Blushes. "It wasn't just the berry martinis."
"They helped," I say.
"Yeah. But I'd been dreaming about kissing you forever." His eyes meet mine. "I tried to stop thinking about you, I did, but I couldn't. I couldn't work, couldn't sleep, couldn't find interest in other women."
"For how long?"
"Five months," he says.
"Five months?"
"Five months before we first kissed," he says.
That night in Toronto when we almost kissed. It was five months ago.
Has he really gone five months not touching anyone else?