Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“Did I miss the memo about the meeting, Walsh?” Ernest scowls.
“Our assistants spoke, I believe. Celeste should have it on your calendar.” Walsh takes Kerris’s elbow. “Karma confirmed with her. We need to get home. Good night.”
Ernest’s frown only deepens as he watches Walsh and Kerris walk away. It can’t be easy for him to see Walsh, a man half his age, taking over the company he built right alongside Walsh’s father. While I feel for the older man, I don’t much like him, and probably wouldn’t consider Bennett Enterprises at all if Walsh wasn’t at the table. For one thing, the way the man treats his daughter rubs me the wrong way.
Speaking of…
“I’ll be right back.” I scoot my seat back and stand.
“Where are you going?” Harold looks at me over his spectacles like a librarian.
“I know we’ve been friends a long time, Smith,” I say with a grin. “But I’m still not ready to go to the bathroom in pairs like girls.”
Harold’s face reddens and he rolls his eyes.
“I’ll be ready to leave when you get back, I think.” He spoons up some of his crème brûlée. “Henri wants to meet at seven tomorrow morning.”
Henrietta runs a tight ship. Even now she’s back at my sister’s place in Brooklyn, prepping for tomorrow’s meetings and our trip to Cambodia. I’ve been looking forward to getting off this continent, but meeting Sofie tonight makes me wish we didn’t have this three-week interruption in our New York trip.
“I’ll be right back.”
Why am I seeking out Sofie? What is this about? So she’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in real life. Looks count for something with me like most men, but not for everything, and from what I’ve heard, she probably doesn’t have much else to offer. But there’s this gulf between what I’ve heard and the woman I met tonight. Maybe the gulf is filled with my preconceived notions.
I see her slumped against the wall as soon as I round the corner, shoes kicked off and wiggling her bare toes. Even witnessing her posture less than perfectly straight, perfectly erect feels like a violation of her privacy. She looks up, squinting into the semi-dark passageway. I can see her much better than she can see me.
“Rip?” She straightens from the wall, her expression becoming annoyed when she realizes it’s not the quarterback. “You’ve got to be kidding me. How many more people have to come through here? What is this? A parade?”
“Oh, I’m sorry for stumbling into your private boudoir.” I lean one shoulder against the wall beside her, stepping close enough to smell the fresh scent she’s been tantalizing me with all night. “I thought these were public bathrooms.”
She holds my gaze in the dim light for a few seconds, not even blinking. Then her lips twitch and spread over the smile people pay to see. From a billboard, that smile hits you like a gut punch. This close, the impact is practically atomic.
“Boudoir?” A husky chuckle suffuses the space separating us. “Did you seriously just break out ‘boudoir’?”
She props her butt against the wall and bends at the waist, slipping on one shoe and then the other. Even the high arch of this woman’s foot is sexy. Every detail I uncover makes me want to go deeper until I’ve discovered them all.
“I like a woman who can laugh at herself.”
My eyes follow the impossibly long line of her legs over the subtle curve of her hips and the surprising lushness of her breasts until I finally reach her waiting gaze, which asks if I’ve looked my fill.
“I wasn’t laughing at myself.” She grins again and inclines her head toward me. “I was laughing at you.”
“I’ll settle for that. Long as you’re laughing.”
She’s not anymore, the humor falling away as quickly as it came. She looks back down the passageway, sleek brows knitting together.
“Did Walsh tell Rip to come?”
“Rip saw a college buddy and stepped away. I’m sure he’ll be down as soon as he gets back to the table and they tell him you’re ready to leave.”
She moves over to a padded leather bench against the opposite wall, seating herself and crossing one leg over the other. She shifts her eyes from me to the men’s room and back again.
“I thought you needed that public restroom.” She gives a regal nod of her head toward the bathroom. “It’s right there.”
“I don’t actually have to use the bathroom.”
I leave it there, waiting for her to ask the obvious question, but I get the feeling Sofie Baston never does the obvious. She leans her back into the wall and narrows her eyes, waiting for me to go on.
“I came to find you.”
She tilts her head and raises both brows, conducting a wordless conversation using only her patrician features.
“Can I ask you a question?”