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)
She grins. “Only child, I’m afraid.”
I nod. “And are your parents still together?”
“Absolutely not. My father…” She pulls in a breath like she’s steeling herself for something. “He wasn’t around much when I was growing up. He’d blow in and out of town. Not very reliable, to put it generously.”
Shit, that doesn’t sound good. “Sounds like a bit of an asshole.”
She shrugs and I want her to say more. Maybe now isn’t the time.
“New York is full of assholes. Hell, if the hotel manager thing doesn’t work out for me, I might try and develop a spray to keep them at bay.”
She deflects with humor. Noted. I’m going to go with it.
“I think they did that already? It’s called pepper spray.”
She smiles just as the car rolls to a stop outside the restaurant.
“Stay put and I’ll come around and open your door,” I say.
There are a couple of photographers outside, probably trying to grab a shot of some celebrity. Most of the journalists will be inside.
I open the car door and extend my hand. When she takes it, heat courses through me. She looks fucking fantastic and feels even better.
“So tonight is about letting the public see how happily engaged we are?” she whispers in my ear as she stands. “We’re not aiming to talk to anyone in particular?”
“No, let’s just focus on enjoying ourselves. You know, like an engaged couple.”
“That won’t be a problem,” she says, her tone warm and relaxed like we really are engaged and she’s looking forward to an evening out with the lucky bastard who’s her fiancé.
She’s right. Being with her feels good. She’s funny and smart and a lot goes on beneath her surface. More and more I just want to strip down and dive in—literally and figuratively.
Once we’re inside, we’re shown to a courtyard at the back of the restaurant, where people are enjoying drinks and canapes. There are a few high tables nestled among three olive trees growing out here.
“This is so pretty,” she says. “And although cobblestones would have looked nicer, no woman in New York wants to go to dinner somewhere with cobbled floors. The tiles really work. And the electric blue keeps it modern.”
“You sound like an interior designer.”
“I’ve just worked in hospitality a long time. I’ve seen a few things. This is smart,” she says, slipping her hand into mine. “It’s a real selling point of a restaurant in New York to have a space like this, but not everyone can get a table out here tonight. Better to serve canapes and drinks without worrying about seating anyone, then serve dinner inside.” Her gaze continues to roam around the space as if she’s trying to memorize every little detail. “I’d love to do something like this at The Mayfair with the roof deck. These tiles are such a clever choice.”
“Isn’t that a staff area?”
Her eyebrows lift. “Exactly. A total waste of lucrative space. You know better than anyone that fresh air is at a premium in New York, and there’s nowhere better to take it in than a rooftop. It could be a great bar space.”
I grin at her. She was right—I’m not going to regret hiring her. She’s so sharp.
“You’re probably right,” I say. “Just don’t ask me for more investment.”
“Honey, you just bought me a Chanel bag. It was ten and a half thousand dollars and I didn’t even kiss you. Maybe I should marry you for real and get some capital investment for my hotel.”
I chuckle, scanning the outdoor space again as I do. My gaze catches on something. Someone. I freeze. I’ve not seen her in a decade, but I’d know Caroline Hammond at a mile away. I know her laugh at ten miles away. It still echoes in my ears. My heart begins to rev like a race car engine on the starting line.
“Are you okay?” Jules asks, tugging on my hand.
“Sure,” I say, pulling in a breath and trying to block out the boom, boom, boom in my ears.
“You don’t look okay.”
“I just saw someone I was hoping to avoid…” Until the awards ceremony.
“Do I need to kill someone?”
I blink and try to focus on Jules. “What?”
“Oh wow, I offer to murder someone and you don’t turn me down flat. I need to know who we’re talking about.”
“It’s nothing.” The hostess has started to guide people inside for dinner. My mind spins ahead. If I can get to our table without running into Caroline, maybe our paths won’t cross. I’m not prepared to see her. I’m not in the right headspace.
“Well, it’s obviously something,” Jules says, sweeping her hand over my shoulder and stepping in close. My hand naturally rests at her waist. To the rest of the world, we look like a couple who can’t keep their hands off each other.
“I didn’t expect photographers inside the venue,” I say, nodding toward a man with a camera. She can probably tell it’s bullshit, but it’s some kind of response.