Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Any relation to the Downings’ Department Stores?”
I force a laugh. “Not many people remember those days, but they were my grandfather’s stores.” What are you up to, Oliver?
“It’s a shame, what happened to your grandfather. He was a good businessman and a better man. Had he lived to manage the store’s shift into an online world, I believe his company would’ve flourished.”
But he didn’t live. And my father ran the business into the ground. “Did you know my grandfather?”
Charles shakes his head. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just a businessman who appreciates those who have a natural talent for it. I studied his business model back when I was in college.”
The bartender slides a bourbon in front of Charles and quickly steps away, obviously trying to give us privacy.
“What about you?” I ask. “Do you live around here?”
“I have a place close by,” he says.
A place. Interesting how he chooses his words. He doesn’t indicate that it’s a second home or that he doesn’t live there full-time. He makes no effort to impress me with his obvious wealth. Then again, between the way Oliver has me dressed and Charles’s impression of the Downing family empire, he doesn’t have any reason to believe I don’t possess wealth at some level, even if it’s not at his.
“I love the city,” I say dreamily, because it’s true. “I came here often with my grandmother when I was a child.”
“So not all that long ago,” he says, winking.
I throw my head back and laugh. “Oh, is this where you tell me you’re so much older than me?”
He settles into the high-backed stool and sips his bourbon. “Well, it’s true.”
I look him over. I don’t know how old he is, but he wears his years well. “I’m not sure that kind of thing matters much.”
Something in his expression goes guarded, and I realize I’ve pushed too much, too soon. This is why Oliver wanted me to take it so slow. This is a guy who’s used to people trying to get whatever they can from him. Or maybe this isn’t supposed to be about sexual attraction at all.
I’d know how to play this if Oliver would tell me something.
“I’ve always enjoyed talking to those who are older. The truth is,” I say, pivoting, “I’m in my third year of college, and I’m still not sure what I want to do with myself. My father will be the first to tell you I have a lot of growing up to do, but it was my grandmother who always helped me find my way. I miss having that.”
“What are your passions?”
I don’t have to fake the sadness I’m sure comes into my expression with that question. “I don’t even know. I’ve spent my whole life being told who I’m supposed to be. Before I can find anything so intense as a passion, I need to figure out who I really am.”
“As a father myself, I can tell you we drive our children hard because we love them,” he says, swirling his drink in its glass. “And sometimes the pressure we put on them is less about trying to mold them into who we want them to be and more about wanting to make sure they have security once we’re gone.”
I wish I could believe that were true for my father, but I know better. Dad never cared about anything other than himself and his bank account. “That’s a lovely way to look at it.”
“I’d like to think I’ve gained a small amount of wisdom in my old age.” He turns away and coughs into his elbow. “Tell me about yourself, Savannah.”
With a smile, I do, and we talk as I make my way through my martini one sip at a time. Charles is charming and a great conversationalist. We talk about Crossport U and our favorite parts of the city. He tells me about his favorite memories from when his children were small—“before they realized that it wasn’t cool to hang with Dad”—and I tell him about my gram and my summers in Alabama. Before I know it, an hour has passed.
“Oh, goodness. I need to go.” I wave to the bartender. “Sorry. I’ll cash out.”
Charles shakes his head. “I’ll take care of it.” He pulls a business card and pen from his pocket. He scribbles something at the bottom before sliding it along to bar to me. “My contact information is on there. If you need anything while you’re in the city, reach out.”
I study him for a beat before tearing my gaze away. This isn’t a man who is looking for a hot young thing to date, but I’m not sure what his end game is. He comes across as nothing but kind. “I really appreciate this.”
“That includes a job,” he says. “Should you decide you need an excuse to stay in the city while you figure out where your passions lie.”