Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“That would be nice,” I say. “Thank you.”
He returns my smile and then turns to Vernon. “We’ll have an artisanal cheese board as a starter. Georgia would like an iceberg wedge, please hold the tomato, and an eight-ounce filet cooked medium and an order of truffle fries. I’ll have the wedge salad, roasted chicken with pistachio gremolata, and potato gratin.”
“Excellent choices, sir,” Vernon says. “I shall return.”
He takes the menus and leaves.
“I’m not sure if you have a personal vendetta against tomatoes on salads, but I do, so thank you,” I say, my face flushing.
He furrows his brow. “You never eat tomatoes.”
“You can’t know that about me,” I say through a fake smile. “We just met. Remember?” How do you know that anyway?
“Fuck.” He looks at Greg. “I …”
Greg pops his head around the camera. “We’ll edit it out. Keep going.”
Ripley nods and, for once, I think he senses that he’s a mere mortal. Ha.
“So no porn, meal prep, or cleaning hacks,” he says, as if he’s actually interested. “Tell me something about you—something real.”
I think you’re a pretty good actor. But you haven’t seen anything yet.
“Let’s see …” I try to think of something that will get a reaction. “Okay. I applied for a weatherwoman job last week.”
Ripley knows I don’t have a meteorology degree—but he can’t say that, so his reaction is perfect. “What?”
“I’m really hoping I get it. I have a knack for predicting the weather.”
He chuckles. “I’m glad to hear that, although I think the weather is more of a science than a guessing game.”
“Then we don’t watch the same weather reports.”
He shakes his head, holding back a comment. If there wasn’t a camera in our faces, God knows what he’d say. But there is. That means he has to behave.
I’m starting to like this. Now, let’s level it up.
“I really think it’s hard to believe you’re single,” I say, fluttering my lashes. “Why is a man like you on a reality show looking for a date?”
“Because there’s a chance I’ll meet a woman like you.”
Oh, well played. I smile, acknowledging his game. “What are you looking for in a relationship?”
We pause as a plate of cheeses, nuts, and fruits, as well as two small plates, are placed between us.
He sits back, his features pensive. “Honestly? One of my brothers just got married and had a baby. Watching him with his wife and little boy has made me start thinking outside of myself.”
“So you’re looking to settle down?”
“Yeah. If I can find the right woman to build a family with, I’d love to be able to raise my children alongside my brothers.”
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.
I’m not sure how I expected him to answer my question—or if I had a response in mind. But this reply wasn’t on my radar. The worst part, the most confusing part, is that I don’t know if he’s being honest or just creating a good soundbite.
No, maybe the worst part is that I’m curious.
“What about you?” he asks. “What are you looking for in a relationship?”
That suddenly feels like a loaded question.
I take a drink to buy myself some time to shake out of the weird headspace I’ve inadvertently entered. I’m not sure whether to answer honestly, or if I should give him a bullshit response to maintain my privacy. His eyes sparkle as if he’s being vulnerable with me, but I don’t trust him.
He’s still Ripley Brewer behind all that charm.
“I’m looking for a man who can complement my life,” I say, setting my drink down. “I don’t need to be saved and I don’t want to save anyone, either. It would just be nice to find someone honest and who doesn’t play games.”
Our gazes lock. I search his pools of blue for any inkling that he understands what I’m saying.
And I come up empty-handed.
Why did I almost hope for something else?
Silly me.
Chapter Twelve
Georgia
“Thank you for an amazing evening,” Ripley says, his hand lightly covering the small of my back.
We exit Ruma side by side.
The sky is dark, and a cool breeze makes me shiver as we enter the parking lot. Most of the cars are gone, leaving my little ride alone with a security lamp shining like a spotlight on top of it. It makes me smile because I can relate—I don’t really belong here, either.
“I had a great time,” I say, facing him. “And thanks for ordering for me. You really are my hero tonight.”
His lips twist to hide his smirk. He knows that was for the audience.
We spent the past three hours eating our meals and ordering dessert and coffee. We did what we were hired to do—ask ridiculous questions and receive bullshit answers. And I’m surprised to admit that we are both damn good actors. There were a few times I had to remind myself that we were pretending. That should bode well for Sutton.