Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“Excuse me?” I splutter.
He begins to laugh, the sound deep and rich. “She didn’t say you were dirty. Not exactly. Her nose is out of joint because I wouldn’t let her and her friends hang out at the resident’s spa and pool. She accused me of preferring the company of dirty women to that of my baby sister.”
“And do you?”
“I prefer your company,” he says, leaning down his elbow on the marble. “And dirty, like underwear, is always optional.”
I’m not touching that. Not with a ten-foot pole. “She doesn’t know I’m here, does she?”
He pushes up again. “She was just guessing. As well as trying to wear me down. Probably because she doesn’t hear the word no often enough.”
“In general?”
“Probably just from me,” he adds with a shrug. “Habits are hard to kill.”
“So long as she doesn’t know I’m here. It’s just, I haven’t been here long, Whit. You’re the boss and—”
“You don’t want to be that cliché?”
I frown. “I’m not sure anyone does.”
“Can we just ignore that my sister called? Go back to how things were a few minutes ago.” He scoops up the coffee cups by the handles with one hand. “I’m assuming you like your coffee the same way as you like your men?”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“Hot, dark, and in your lap.” He gives a comically suggestive wiggle of his brows.
“That was so bad.” But I’m loving this side of him. “I get the sneaking suspicion that you’re a morning person.”
“That sounded like an insult,” he says over his shoulder.
“People who get out of bed with a smile on their face are to be treated with suspicion.”
Putting the cups down, he turns and presses his palm to the countertop behind, muscles and tendons standing to attention as he levels me with a look that’s nothing short of searing. “You’re not telling me you haven’t caught yourself smiling this morning, that your mind hasn’t wandered to last night?”
“That would be telling,” I demur, floving seeing this side to him. He’s thought about last night and it’s making him smile!
Turning his back to me, he shoves one cup under the coffee machine spout and the other to the top. Cuffing his wrist with his free fingers, he shoves the sleeves of his sweater up his forearm, highlighting toned and tan forearms. “Latte?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Please.” Sliding one of the cups under the spout thingy, he presses a button, and the grinder begins to whir. He heats up the cup, taps something, fits something into the right hole, and all the while, the fine knit of his sweater moves like a second skin, molding to the strong muscles in his back and shoulders. If he was my local barista, I know I’d develop an addiction. “Total coffee shop porn.”
“What was that?” He twists his head over his shoulder.
“Your fancy-looking machine.”
“I’m a bit of a coffee snob thanks to working as a barista when I came back from the States.”
“I bet the place you worked was like Abercrombie and Fitch, but for coffee.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I smile and shake my head as though he must’ve been hearing things. But as an idea, a business plan, it would totally work. “Was this before you got the job at the bank?”
“My first job was as an analyst at an investment bank. Then I moved into trading derivatives.” Face must reflect my lack of knowledge as he adds, “Derivatives are financial securities and as a trader you buy and sell them on behalf of financial institutions, hedge funds, and the like.”
“Like a stock broker?”
“Yeah.” His finger rasps against the stubble on his jaw. “I had a knack.” He shrugs. “And a lot of luck. I made a lot of money and a lot of connections, and it set me on the path to this.” He flicks out a hand, indicating the multi-million-dollar bachelor pad. “I hit the big time.”
Then he hit the big time. Or rather, worked very hard to get where he is today. Whit comes from a regular family, not from a monied background. Boy done good. Boy done really good.
“I suspect your success has a lot more to do with the person you are than a bunch of random luck.” Connor always said Whit was a math whizz and I already know he’s the kind of man who people gravitate to. Women especially.
“It keeps me out of trouble,” he says with the kind of gleam that makes my stomach flip.
“Can I do anything to help?” Before we end up having sex in your stylish kitchen?
“You could move some of the containers over to the table.” He gestures to the fancy boxes and bags from some French sounding patisserie.
That I can do.
“Is this a usual Saturday morning breakfast for you?” I ask as I loop a finger under the delicate ribbon of a couple of pink cake boxes and carry them over to the large dining table where two place settings have already been set. Plates, glasses, and silverware. There’s a half-filled pastry platter, a tropical fruit salad, and a carafe of juice, and that’s just the start of it.