Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
“A new plan that includes going on a date with you?” She scoffs. “How convenient.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “It is convenient. That’s why you should do it. Give me a good reason why you shouldn’t.”
“Because you’re an exot—” She shakes her head briefly, sucking her lips into her mouth, but the cat’s already out of the bag and I already know what she was going to say.
Maybe, if I were actually an exotic dancer, I’d be offended—though, knowing me, probably not. But the fact that that’s not even really what I do for a living only makes me want to beam.
“Ahh,” I breathe. “Too good to go on a date with a dancer.”
“No,” she rushes to disagree, embarrassed. I almost have to laugh. She’s on the defensive now, and I kind of like the feel of stalking my prey.
She digs in her purse for her phone—at least I presume that’s what she’s after—and her body shivers in the bristling cold air of the sidewalk without any real barrier against the wind.
“I think that’s it. I think you’re embarrassed to go on a date with someone like me,” I challenge. At the same time, I work on pulling my own sport coat from my shoulders to place around hers since it seems she didn’t have standing on the sidewalk in the middle of winter waiting on a ride in her carefully crafted plans either.
“No, I’m not.”
I smile and hold up the coat as a peace offering, and she eyes it closely. There’s hesitation, sure, but the overwhelming expression on her face is abject longing. And I don’t blame her. It’s fucking cold out here, and I’m not in a skimpy dress and heels.
Finally, she accepts it, giving me her back so I can set the coat across her tanned shoulders while she slips her arms into the sleeves. It drowns her delicate frame, but at the same time, it somehow seems made for her.
“Well, good. Now that we got that out of the way, there’s nothing else to debate. Let me run back in and grab the rest of my stuff from the table, and then we can go.”
“Go?” she asks, spinning around to face me. “Go where?”
“On our date.”
“But you didn’t even know you were going to see me tonight. How could you possibly have something planned?”
“I don’t,” I say with a shrug. “We’re going to make it up as we go along.”
“Great,” she grumbles, and I laugh.
“Not one for spontaneity, huh?”
“No,” she admits. “I can’t say it’s my strong suit.”
“Well, then, stick with me. Because I’m a pro.”
While I made a quick trip back inside to leave money on my table—and Sophie’s—and grab my belongings, I enlisted Heidi to keep an eye on my new date to make sure she didn’t escape. Once everything was all set, the two of us stepped back outside into the blustery weather, this time with Sophie sporting not only my sport jacket, but my overcoat, too.
It was cold as shit without having anything to protect against the wind, but she needed it more than me, far and away.
Plus, I hailed a cab pretty quickly with a whistle and a wave, and now I’m perfectly toasty in the slightly stale air of a New York City taxi.
“Did you say Raines Law Room?” Sophie asks after I sit back into the seat and turn to face her. The fact that she’s skeptical enough of me to eavesdrop on my conversation with the cabbie makes me smile. I might be the type to toy with my women every once in a while, but at the end of the day, there’s nothing sexier than a woman with a brain.
And a woman who takes a personal interest in her own safety, no matter how trustworthy the guy may actually be, is a smart woman.
“I did,” I confirm easily, not wanting to keep her on edge. “Have you been there before?”
She shakes her head once, glances out her window and away from me momentarily, and then turns back. “I haven’t. I’ve heard of it from a couple clients, but even in all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve never been.”
“How long have you lived here?”
She laughs a little, licking her lips and blushing. “Twenty-nine years.”
“And how old are you?”
“Twenty-eight and a half,” she says comically, and a chuckle spills from my throat.
“Okay, you’re going to have to explain that one.”
Her face is beautifully confident, lifting and crinkling in all the right places as she elucidates. “My parents made the trek from Miami to New York when my mom was a few months pregnant with Belle and me so my dad could take a job in the ironworkers union.”
I laugh. “So, your first six months in New York were as a fetus.”
She nods.
“I have to admit, I’ve met a hell of a lot of people in this city over the years and listened to all manner of stories about how they came to be here, but yours might be the best I’ve ever heard. At least in the category of delivery.”