Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 840(@200wpm)___ 672(@250wpm)___ 560(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” he agrees. “But I saw the way you were watching him, and the way he was watching you. And something occurred to me. If he was a no hoper, a complete twat, Lulu would’ve figured him out in five minutes flat.”
“She’s a child, not an oracle.”
“She’s a one off,” he asserts, his tone not exactly complimentary.
If only things were as simple as children see them. Or Everett. Of course I’m watching him. Thinking about him. Thinking about what he did. And its sort of heart crushing when I try to wrap my thoughts around why he could think he was worth so little. The reasons he sold himself. I don’t mean for charity. How he could twist his grandfather’s sins into something so hurtful and sordid, and why he sought to punish himself. How could he possibly think he could atone for sins committed against women he never knew?
It’s all so sordid and repugnant for someone so very beautiful.
Maybe he’d say the same for me because he offered me his heart on a platter only for me to stick my heel through it.
“You could do a lot worse than him, you know.”
“That’s hardly a ringing endorsement.” As well as a strange turn of events. Everett saying something borderline complimentary? Maybe he’s ill.
“Coming from me, I think you’ll find it is.”
“Hmph.”
“Jesus, I’m trying to make it easy for you here, Fee. You’re staring at the man as though you dropped your heart in his pocket and you’re waiting for him to notice.”
“Make it easy?” I retort. “I don’t—”
“Know your arse from your elbow. I give up,” he says, almost throwing up his hands.
“You’re in a shitty mood,” I retort. Talk about deflecting. I slide my clutch from the table and stand. “If Rose comes back, tell her I’ve gone to check on the kids.”
“I’m gonna get another drink.”
And then he’s gone, his flounce off way more effective than mine.
I slap down my clutch and key card, then pull off these tortures called shoes.
“Why can’t life be easy?” I mutter, my footsteps muffled against the plush carpet.
I’m not hiding. Well, I guess I am. But I wasn’t lying when I said I was going to check on the kids. The pair were sleeping so sweetly, and Arianne was reading a book, and while I was going to carry Lulu back to our suite, my phone had buzzed with Rose’s text and a demand that I “get my ass back” because Carson was at the bar and getting shots.
No thank you! I don’t have a nanny to wake with my child in the morning. Besides, I need to keep a clear head. But I will go back down. Soon. Once I’ve had a little think about what I’m going to say to Carson. Because I need to. No, I want to.
Urgh! Why does this have to be so complicated?
Our suite is two bedrooms on either side of a small lounge. It’s very French looking with original crown mouldings and red damask walls. The tables have cabriole legs, the lamps are ornate, and all three rooms feature sumptuous soft furnishings. The double doors that lead to the larger of the two bedrooms are open, the bed linens already turned down for the night. I drop onto the padded bench at the end of the bed while contemplating my pink painted toenails.
Our mani-pedi appointment this afternoon was fun. Champagne, magazines, silly conversations, and a little gossiping was a good way to spend an hour or so. My toes do look super pretty, and though the idea was Rose’s, and nothing to do with the possibility of seeing Carson this evening, I can’t say the same for the rest of my preparations.
I draw my fingertips up my smooth, bare legs as I consider the buffing, shaving, and slathering session I’d undertook before getting ready this evening. Did I think he might appreciate the sight? Did I plan for him to?
I certainly didn’t expect him to be sitting with some other woman while I gawked at him. What would I do if I could start the evening over again?
Maybe I’d drop my clutch to the bar and climb onto the seat next to him.
Maybe I’d say, You look like one hell of a fun night followed by a week of stalking. I’d force myself to smile brightly so he’d know I was playing. I can almost imagine his expression, see him choking a little on his drink before setting it down.
That’s my pickup line, I’d announce as though it was the most normal thing in the world. I’ve shown you mine. Now you have to show me yours.
Yes, because there’d be nothing unsubtle about that.
But wouldn’t that be the point?
I have to show you mine? His voice would be deep and smooth with just an edge of confusion, the kind that’d quirk in the corners of those sensuous lips.