Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“You don’t even like me.”
“Says who?”
I laugh now and shake my head, and then the laughter comes harder, and I can’t control it. I have to sit and cross my legs so I don’t pee myself, and all the while, Drew just stands there, his arms folded, watching me with humor in his own blue eyes.
“You can’t stand it when I come to your office,” I say when I can breathe again. “And now you’re going to willingly spend the evening with me?”
“I don’t dislike you. I do dislike him. What time should I pick you up?”
“We can meet there.”
“London.” That’s the first time he’s ever said my name, and it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard in my life. “What time?”
“Seven?”
“I’ll see you then.”
Chapter 3
Drew
I’m not entirely sure how I ended up in this situation.
I wasn’t lying to London when I told her that I didn’t dislike her. She’s not my favorite person on the planet, but even if I hated her guts, I would have stepped in this morning when I heard that smarmy voice in her office.
I happened to be in the lobby of the building when her coffee was delivered, and I offered to run it up to her. No big deal.
But as I walked down the hall, I heard him, and it was plain as day that he was an asshole. Before I knew it, I had my arm wrapped around her, had kissed her head, and had given the other man the impression that she and I were an item.
The kicker is, despite the fact that she can grate on my nerves faster than anyone else in the known universe, she felt good against me.
And she smells like cinnamon, which intrigues me. Is that normal? Does she bake a lot? Where does that come from?
I guess I inherited the urge to swoop in and help a woman from my dad and uncles, and the thought of escorting her to the charity dinner tonight doesn’t bother me. As a member of the staff, I have to go anyway. She’s going, and I’m going; we might as well just ride together.
Like I said, no big deal.
I have to check in with the security guard at the gate of the neighborhood as I pull onto her street.
“Drew Montgomery for London Ambrose.”
“Yes, sir. Her home is two miles in, at the end of the road.”
“Thanks.”
He nods and presses a button to open the enormous iron gate, and I pull through.
I’m not a stranger to wealth. While my parents are not wealthy, I have aunts, uncles, and other family members who are. I’m used to big homes, fancy cars, and luxury goods of all kinds. We understood that we were a privileged family, but it was never really a big deal to any of us cousins.
But the kind of wealth that London’s family has? That’s foreign to me. I don’t know a lot about them, or how they amassed such a huge empire, aside from knowing that their father was one of the tech guys that made it really big in the nineties. They have access to billions of dollars, which is a concept that I can’t really wrap my head around.
Not that I need to.
At the end of the road is a smaller driveway with a brick mailbox, and I turn to follow it through some trees that have lost their leaves. It winds around for another quarter mile or so before the house comes into view.
The sun has just gone down, and the house is lit up from the inside out. It’s a two-story estate, and it sprawls with beautiful, old trees surrounding it. There’s even a fountain in the middle of a circular driveway.
Fancy.
I climb the steps to the front door and press the doorbell. I can hear some shuffling inside, and then the door opens.
But it’s not London who answers.
“Who are you?” a young voice asks as he peeks out from the side of the door.
“Caleb!” That’s London’s voice yelling out from inside the house. “You can’t just open the damn door.”
“She said damn,” the boy says with a snicker, and then the door opens wider, and London’s frowning down at the kid. She’s in a white terrycloth robe, with one eye made up and the other one naked. I can still smell the soap from her shower.
“Hi,” she says and huffs out a breath. “Sorry, I’m running a little late, which seems to be the norm today. Come on in.”
She steps back, making room for me to step inside, and I feel my eyebrows climb, despite myself.
My entire family would fit in the foyer. And that’s saying something, given that my family is massive.
“Your home is lovely.”
“It’s big,” the boy named Caleb says with a shrug. “Come on, I’ll show you my game room.”
“You don’t have to—” London begins, but I shake my head and offer her a wink.