Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
My mother had been the Mastersons’ housekeeper for over a decade. They’d recently decided they needed some extra help around the house in the late spring and summer months while the boys would be home, so Mom got me a job as an additional part-time housekeeper this season. Unlike many other people on the island, the Mastersons weren’t snowbirds who traveled north in the summer. They stayed here year-round.
Their mansion was just over the bridge from where I lived in West Palm Beach, but it truly felt a world away.
“What time are they coming?” I asked.
“Apparently, they just landed at Palm Beach International.”
Great.
She handed me a piece of paper. “Take this shopping list and head to the store. Whatever you do, don’t buy anything unless it’s organic. Ruth will blow her lid.”
***
The trip to the supermarket took longer than I wanted. Having to read labels and make sure everything was organic was a pain in the ass.
As I began putting the groceries away in the kitchen, I noticed someone sitting in the corner of the breakfast nook by the window.
I recognized him from photos. It was the younger son, Weldon. He had dark blond hair and fine features. He looked a lot like Ruth.
Seeming totally oblivious to my presence, he devoured a bowl of chili con carne with his face buried in his phone.
“Hello,” I called to him. “I’m Raven.”
Nothing. Not a word.
“Hi,” I repeated.
Nothing.
Am I invisible?
He wasn’t wearing earbuds. I knew he’d heard me, yet he hadn’t even looked up.
I muttered under my breath, sure he wouldn’t hear me since he was so immersed in his scrolling. “Ohhh, okay. I get it. You’re a self-absorbed, pin-headed prick who doesn’t believe in acknowledging anyone with a smaller bank account. Why don’t you just continue to stuff your face like I don’t exist? Well, fuck you, too.”
“Fuck you three,” I heard a deep voice say behind me.
Shit!
I turned around slowly to find the most mesmerizing set of blue eyes peering at me.
The other brother. Gavin.
He flashed a huge smile. Unlike Weldon, who seemed devoid of all personality, Gavin Masterson bled charm through his smile alone. He was also drop-dead gorgeous. Honestly, he looked like a movie star—definitely way more grown up than in the photos on the walls.
My heart dropped to my stomach. “Uh…”
“It’s okay. I won’t tell.” He smirked and glanced over at Weldon. “For the record, he deserves it.”
I stuttered, “Still…that…was inappropriate. I ju—”
“I think it was great. We need more people around here who keep it real, tell it like it is.”
Ohh-kay. “Seriously, how did you even hear that?” I asked. “It was under my breath. I wasn’t even sure I said it out loud at all.”
He pointed to his ear. “I’ve been told I have really good hearing.” He stuck out his hand. “Gavin.”
I took it. “I know.”
His hand was much bigger than mine. His long, masculine fingers felt warm and electric.
“Nice to meet you, Raven.”
I hadn’t told him my name.
Feeling a shiver along my spine, I said, “You know who I am…”
“Of course I do. Your mother talks about you all the time. I knew you were working here now. I’ve been looking for you…to say hello. Although, I almost called you Chiquita just now.”
“Chiquita?”
I flinched when he reached over and pulled a tiny sticker off my shirt. The slight touch gave me goosebumps. He stuck it on the top of his hand. Chiquita. As in Chiquita banana. It must have fallen off of the bunch of bananas I’d bought.
My face felt hot. “Oh.” I had to be blushing.
I looked up at him again. Gavin’s hair was darker than Weldon’s—a medium shade of brown, longer in the front and tousled. He looked like a younger version of his dad. Gavin was exactly my type: tall and built with expressive eyes and a killer smile that held a hint of mischief. He wore a leather jacket, which added to the mysterious vibe about him.
“Did you not get the memo that it’s ninety degrees here? You’re dressed like you’re still in London. I’m getting hot just looking at you.”
Okay. That sounded bad.
“You are, huh?”
He picked up on it. Great.
“Well…” he said. “I just went from the air-conditioned car to the air-conditioned house, so it hasn’t hit me yet. But I’m quite aware it’s hot as balls out.” Suddenly, he tore off his jacket. “But since just looking at me makes you hot, I’ll take it off.” He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a ripped chest. “Better?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
He crossed his toned arms. “Where do you go to school again?”
I pried my eyes upward. “I’m taking some time off. I went to Forest Hill in West Palm for high school. I plan to start some college classes in the fall.”
“Gotcha.”
“I’m hoping to transfer credits to a bigger university after a couple of years,” I added.