Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“I’m afraid I only eat salad from Le Bernardin.”
“Well, I get my salads from the deli on the corner of 73rd and Amsterdam.”
She laughs. “Any salad will be just fine.”
I place an order with Door Dash and then dig about, finding cutlery and placemats. “I don’t use the dining room much. But maybe we should. The view from that room is great.”
“The views from all the rooms are great.”
I don’t know why I care, but I’m pleased she likes it. “I can’t argue. It was a big reason why I bought the place. We came to the US when I was fifteen and I always dreamed of having an apartment with amazing views.”
“What made you move from the UK?”
I pull out plates and napkins and together we take everything into the dining room. “My dad worked his whole life in a bakery in Slough, until one day he announced he’d bought a bakery in Brooklyn. My mum cried for weeks. She didn’t want to come. Didn’t want to leave her friends and family.” I shake my head. My dad was an arsehole for not talking to her about it before he went and did it. “It turned out fine. Her best friend ended up moving to Spain shortly after and she made friends here.”
“What about you? Did you mind moving countries?”
“Honestly, I didn’t have an opinion. My parents made the decisions. I just went along with it. But when we arrived, I knew I’d found the place I was meant to be.” I set the plates onto the dining table and look out across the city. “I felt excited. Like my future was going to be… different. I’d grown up in a neighborhood where everything was the same, and looking back, it probably had been for generations. Everyone had a house with a front garden and a back garden. The grass was mown by the dads on Saturdays while the mums did the shopping. Sundays were about washing the car and a roast dinner and then the week started again. I never questioned it until we came to America. In Brooklyn, where we lived, on the way to the park you could see the Manhattan skyline, and I sort of knew that the city was waiting for me.”
I glance over at Jules to find her looking at me, the reflection from the lights bouncing off the windows and lighting up her face, picking up strands of her dark brown hair and making them kinda glow. She’s gorgeous.
“Sounds like the beginning of a fairy tale,” she says wistfully.
I chuckle. “Met a few trolls along the way, but yeah. I feel so lucky we moved here.” The door buzzer goes and we both head back toward the kitchen. I collect the salad from the courier and she takes the mac and cheese from the oven and brings it over to the table.
“What about you? Do you feel lucky to be in Manhattan?” I pick up a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses on my way back to the dining room, then set about opening the bottle while she dishes out our food.
She sighs. I like the way she thinks before she talks. It strikes me that I don’t have many personal conversations with women. I have professional conversations, and some of them seem like they’re personal. I can laugh and joke and do whatever it takes to get the job done. And then in my social life, I’m not looking to share information about myself with a woman. When things are just physical, I’m not interested in where and how she grew up.
It’s been like that my whole life, with only one exception. Looking back, even with Nadia this summer, it was mainly about the sex. Every time I tried to connect with her, she’d get naked and I’d get distracted.
“It’s hard,” she says eventually as she takes a seat. I sit opposite her. “My mom has worked in hotels her entire life. She’s had a grueling time of it, and she wanted something better for me.”
Her words hit me at my core. I get it. That’s why she’s here, pretending to be my fiancée. She wants a better life for herself and to make her mum happy. Fuck. We’re so similar.
“And she got her wish,” I say. “You’re going to manage The Mayfair.”
“Temporarily,” she corrects.
“I’ve discovered tonight that I don’t know you that well. But from what I do know of you, I don’t imagine you’re going to let this opportunity pass you by.”
Her gaze falls on her plate, and I detect a slight blush across her cheeks. “You’re right.” Then she full-on laughs. “You’re totally right. You’ll have to have security lift me from the building if you want to fire me.”
I won’t need to. I have a feeling she’s going to be exactly what that hotel needs.