Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79438 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79438 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
She shakes her head. “I have a bunch of paintings in storage. I was thinking of selling some of them at a market.”
“You should do that,” I say to encourage her. Keeping the conversation on her, I ask, “So what do you do for fun?”
She thinks for a moment before replying. “Normal stuff. Watching a movie. Reading a book.” She cuts a piece off her steak, then grins. “Eating.”
Seeing her relaxed fills me with pride.
“What do you do for fun?” she throws the question back at me.
“I love spending time with my family.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Are you close with them?”
I nod. “I’m especially close with my little sister. She’s fifteen years younger than me, so I’m an overprotective big brother.”
There’s a flicker of sadness in Lillian’s eyes, which catches my attention.
“That must be nice,” she murmurs before focusing on her meal.
I feel the need to ask what the sad look was for, but keeping things professional, I pretend I don’t notice it.
Chapter 10
Lillian
I’m surprised by how well the dinner is going. Callan has managed to make me feel relaxed to the point where I enjoy his company.
That is, until he asks for the check.
Do I pay?
I should pay, seeing as I hired him, right?
I nibble the inside of my mouth, then gather the courage and ask, “I pay for the dinner, right?”
He shakes his head. “It’s included in the fee you paid. After all, it wouldn’t feel like a date if you pay.”
“Ohhhh.” I give him a playful expression. “You’re giving away your business’ secrets.”
I’m rewarded with a hot grin. “Don’t tell anyone.”
The server places a black folder down beside Callan, and I watch as he takes a black Amex card from his wallet.
When the payment is done, I pick up my handbag and stand up. “Thank you for tonight.”
Callan rises to his full height and takes a step closer to me. “You’re welcome.”
He gestures for me to walk, and when we exit the restaurant and step out onto the sidewalk, he asks, “Can I take you home?”
My eyes flit to his before I glance up and down the busy street.
Should I take a cab?
It’s not like he’s a serial killer.
I look at Callan again before replying, “Won’t it be out of your way?”
“Where do you live?”
I hesitate for a few seconds before saying, “Sutton Place. 58th Street.”
His right eyebrow lifts. “It’s just down the road from me. Let me take you home so I can make sure you’re safe.”
Feeling a twinge of nervousness, I nod. “Thanks. It’s kind of you.”
Callan places his hand on my lower back, instantly making me overly aware of him. He guides me to a matte black Bugatti and opens the passenger door.
If only all men had manners like Callan. I wouldn’t be surprised if every woman he’s accompanied to an event or for dinner has fallen head over heels for him.
Just keep your feet firmly on the ground, Lillian. This is nothing more than a job for him. You’re paying for a service.
Getting into the car, I put on my safety belt. When Callan slides in behind the steering wheel and shuts the door, the atmosphere ripples with the intensity coming off him in waves.
As the engine roars to life, Callan’s eyes flick to me, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly before he pulls away from the curb.
Holy hotness.
He doesn’t try to fill the silence with unnecessary conversation, and only when he turns into 58th Street does he ask, “Which building?”
“One Beacon Court.” I watch as my apartment building comes closer, then say, “Thank you for tonight.”
Callan parks in front of the entrance and surprises me when he climbs out and comes to open my door.
When I step onto the sidewalk, he says, “I’ll walk you to your front door.”
“You don’t have to.”
His palm rests on my lower back again, giving me a soft nudge. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re safely home.”
We enter the foyer, and I smile at the doorman before I dig my keycard out of my handbag. Swiping over the elevator's keypad, I press the button for the top floor.
The doors slide open, and we step inside. When they close again, Callan’s overwhelming presence fills the small space.
“We don’t live far from each other,” he mentions.
“Yeah? Where’s your apartment?” I ask to make conversation.
“The Ritz Carlton.”
I’m not surprised.
The doors open on my floor, and as we walk to my front door, Callan asks, “I might be pushing my luck, but is there any chance you’ll allow me to see your paintings?”
Caught off guard, my eyes fly to his face.
He notices my strong reaction and says, “Only if you’re comfortable letting me into your apartment.”
I know he won’t try anything. I’m just surprised he wants to see my artwork.
“You can come in.”
Opening my front door, I step inside. I switch on some lights and place my handbag on the couch before gesturing to the stairs.