Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
My spirits are promptly bolstered. “You remembered,” I say happily. “I was worried you might forget them in Ibiza.”
“And miss hearing the delight in your voice? Of course not. So, fancy that peek?”
“I do believe I would,” I answer, glad he can’t see the huge dorky smile on my face.
“Brilliant. I’ll send my car ’round.”
I take a quick shower and get dressed, twisting my damp hair in a bun. I throw on some jeans and a T-shirt. But like my nicest T-shirt. I don’t want to be pretentiously overdressed for a glorified study session, but I also don’t want the doorman at Ben’s flat to lock me out and call the cops.
“Hey.” Lee pops in and throws himself on my bed while I’m picking out matching socks. “What do you say we go out to eat? Jamie’s gnawing on his arm down there, and I don’t feel like cooking.”
“Can’t. I’ve got plans.”
“Oh? Do you have pics?”
I grin. “Not those kinds of plans. Ben’s back in town, and he has some boxes for me to snoop through.”
Lee jerks upright. “At his flat?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Alone?”
“Are you asking to chaperone?” I inquire, rolling my eyes.
“Should I?”
I throw him a look. “It’s not a date. I haven’t even spoken to him in weeks.”
“But he’s back and you’re his first call.”
The suspicion clouding Lee’s face makes me laugh. “I sincerely doubt that’s how it happened.”
If anything, after a month on the Spanish coast, I’m sure he’s quite exhausted of female attention. Even the Energizer Bunny has to change out his batteries every now and then.
“Look, babe.” Lee crosses his legs, meeting me with his serious face. “That Tulley reputation is well earned. It isn’t all idle gossip.”
“I know that. Ben’s the first one to admit his family has its skeletons.”
“Yes. And he isn’t above reproach.”
Who among us, right?
“Whatever he gets up to in his off hours is his business,” I say, shrugging. “I’m not writing his memoir.”
“No, you’re just running over to his flat. In the middle of the night. Alone.”
It sounds sinister when he says it like that.
“Not the middle of the night,” I point out. “It’s only eight.”
“Abbey, luv.” Lee uses the tone he reserves for when Jamie does something stupid. “Eric and I have talked about our dear Lord Tulley.”
“Of course you have. Your boyfriend is a gossip,” I remind him. Gossiping is the only thing Lord Eric enjoys more than his fussy show cats and the tall fussy man sitting on my bed.
“Maybe. Doesn’t make him wrong. And he had some troubling things to say about Ben’s not-so-private predilections.”
“So what, he has a red room? Don’t all you posh Brits?”
Lee sighs. “I mean…at his age, there’s only one reason he gives attention to a college girl.”
“First, he’s twenty-seven, not thirty-five. And second, ouch, okay?”
“Look at me,” my roommate says, reaching out to clasp my hands. “As a friend, I’m trying to save you from yourself.”
My expression softens. “I appreciate your concern, but it’s entirely misplaced. Yes, Ben and I got a little flirty at the royal ball, but that was ages ago. That ship has sailed. He’s not a love interest. He’s barely a friend. More like an academic benefactor. I’m going over there to look through some boxes, take some pictures, and that’s it.”
Lee drops my hands. I gather my bag off the floor and swipe my keys from the nightstand.
“I’ll grab something to eat while I’m out,” I tell him.
“Hey,” he says before I leave. “I’ll keep my ringer on. Call or text if you need anything.”
When I arrive at Ben’s penthouse, he greets me looking like he just stepped off a yacht. Sporting a tan and salt-sprayed hair. A linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Barefoot in khaki pants. He’s like an ad in Vogue for sunglasses or a six-figure watch.
“Hope you don’t mind,” I say, carrying a paper bag into his stainless-steel chef ’s kitchen. “I asked your driver to stop on the way for some takeout.”
He swirls a tumbler of dark amber liquor, watching me set cartons on the marble countertop. “You’re quite a peculiar girl.”
“I get that a lot.”
“It’s working for you,” he says, lifting his glass to salute me. “Keep it up.”
“Should we eat first, or we can nosh while we go through the boxes?”
“I admire your industriousness, but let’s have a drink first.” Ben pulls a bottle of white out of the wine fridge under the counter, then finds a corkscrew. “The boxes have been waiting half a century. They’re not going anywhere.”
I consider refusing, but I can’t deny that putting down some of Ben’s absurdly expensive wine sounds more appetizing than paper cuts at the moment.
“All right.” I hold my hand out for the glass. “Hit me.”
“That’s the spirit.” He passes me a generous pour and we clink glasses. “I do admire Americans and your appreciation for procrastination.”