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 have something for you,” I say, and I quickly go and grab the Cartier bag that’s been sitting on the coffee table. “I just got something off the peg,” I say, setting the bag down next to the mac and cheese. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”
She places her palm on her heart. “You didn’t have my engagement ring designed and made to order? I’m offended.”
I roll my eyes. “I just mean, do you think people will be suspicious?”
“It depends on the ring, I suppose.”
I lift my chin in the direction of the bag, inviting her to take a look and make a judgment for herself. She sets down her fork and takes the bag. “I just went online—” I start, but don’t get very far because she takes out the ring box, opens it, and screams.
“What?!”
“What?” I echo. I didn’t check the box. Did they fill it with joke shop spiders or something?
“This is the ring you’re expecting me to wear?” She turns the box to me. It looks like the ring I saw online and called up about.
“Do you hate it?”
She splutters, “No, I don’t hate it! How could anyone hate it?”
“So why are you screaming like you’ve just seen a dead body?”
She glances between me and the ring, once, then twice. “It’s just gorgeous. I’m worried I’m going to lose it.”
“It’s covered on my insurance. You’re not going to lose it,” I say.
She’s still staring at it like it might bite her.
“Are you going to put it on?” I ask.
She pulls it out of the box and slides it on her finger. “It fits perfectly.”
It looks good on her. Appropriate.
“Don’t tell me how much it cost.”
I chuckle. “I won’t if you promise not to get too attached to it.”
She sighs. “I can’t promise that. But I can promise that I won’t cause you physical pain when you ask for it back.”
“Good compromise,” I say, taking a mouthful of mac and cheese. I groan. “This is so good.”
“It’s homemade mac and cheese,” she says. “Of course it’s good.” She grins at me and forks up a mouthful of pasta. Her eyes flutter closed, and I can’t take my gaze off her. “It’s good.”
I nod, and we continue to eat in happy silence, the ring glinting on her finger, just like we’re an engaged couple having dinner together. And it’s easier to believe than I thought possible. The woman opposite me is funny, ambitious, beautiful, and great company, and I’ve enjoyed tonight more than I thought I would. I’ve just got to make sure I don’t step over the line. I can’t fuck this up. For either of us.
THIRTEEN
Jules
I’m officially the manager of The Mayfair. I’ve used up a chunk of my savings to dress the part in black trousers and a gray silk shirt. Oversized pantsuits were okay for Hart Developments, but this is the job. Everything has to be perfect. The only person who doesn’t get a uniform at The Mayfair is the manager. Still, these clothes feel like a uniform. Or maybe a costume—like it’s not quite me. Like it’s the grown-up version of me.
I check my hair and makeup in the mirror. My hair’s in a low bun, less severe than I’m used to. And I’m wearing my contacts. I’m ready.
My plan is to be on the ground, walking the floor as the manager. I know I’ve worked in the hotel, but I’m sure I’ll see things in a different light as the manager here. But I also really want to get to grips with what all the layers of deputy managers and shift manager do, and work out which of them don’t need to be here. It will take cost out of the operation, which I desperately need to do if I want to prove myself to Leo.
A knock on my office door catches me off guard.
“A flower delivery for you,” Joan says. Joan is the assistant to the management team. I’ve known her a very long time.
“Flowers?” I ask and pull the card from where it’s tucked in between the stems. The arrangement is luxurious, an abundance of light and dark pink roses in a vase.
I open the card and, even though I know they can only be from Leo, seeing his name on the little slip of paper makes my heart lift in my chest. He’s playing the part of the doting fiancé whose almost-wife just started a new job. I get it. But why do I like it so much?
The card reads, “Are roses on-brand? Good luck. Love, Just Leo.”
I hate him for sending me such an adorable message. I need him to be more on-brand than this. More of the Player Leo I know lurks under this sweet, sincere exterior. Basically, I need him to display far more asshole tendencies than he’s doing at the moment. Because if he keeps going the way he is, I’m going to forget what an obvious asshole he is and I’ll start to like him. Really like him.