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)
As I step into my living room, my phone beeps with a payment request from The Perfect Gentleman, and before I can chicken out, I transfer the required amount to them.
It’s just dinner. I’ll get to enjoy a meal with an attractive man. There are no expectations.
Taking a calming breath, I head to my bedroom to get ready for tonight.
I'm standing outside the restaurant, dressed in black pants and a dark green blouse, with a light jacket for the nippy autumn air. For the hundredth time, I wonder whether I shouldn’t just cancel this crazy idea.
Don’t be a coward. It’s too late to cancel.
It’s just dinner.
I suck in a deep breath of air, and before I can change my mind, I walk into the restaurant.
My stomach tightens horribly, and I feel nauseated as I stop in front of the host. The man smiles as he asks, “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes. I’m meeting Callan Wright,” I say, my voice sounding scratchy.
I clear my throat and force a smile to my face.
“Right this way, ma’am,” the host murmurs.
I follow him past candle-lit tables and notice how busy the restaurant is. I’m taken to the back, and when my eyes land on Callan, my heartbeat sets off at a crazy pace.
Shit. What was I thinking?
Whatever you do, don’t puke.
In a smooth motion that reminds me of a wildcat, Callan gets up from where he’s sitting, and I hardly notice as the host smiles politely at me before returning to the front of the restaurant.
My eyes are glued to the man in front of me, who’s dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit, looking as if he stepped out of a fashion magazine.
Just like at Starbucks, I’m struck speechless by the intensity of his bright blue eyes and extraordinary good looks.
He’s easily a head and a half taller than me, and he seems downright powerful.
It’s intimidating.
Shit, I should’ve worn a dress or something more formal and impressive.
“I’m glad you didn’t cancel,” Callan says, a comforting expression forming on his handsome face.
I quickly wipe my palm on my pants before shaking Callan’s hand. “I thought about it a million times,” I admit nervously. “Ah… I’m Lillian Harrison. Nice to officially meet you.”
His mouth curves up at the corners, and it makes him look a zillion times hotter. “Please, sit down.”
Honestly, I feel a little lightheaded from the intensity of the moment and quickly take a seat across from him.
An awkward smile pulls at my lips, and I feel sweat beading all over my body.
As I suck in a deep breath, Callan tilts his head, and his eyes settle on me. “Take another deep breath,” he instructs while pushing a glass of water closer to me. “It’s just dinner, Lillian. There’s nothing to worry about. You’re in complete control.”
I nod as I desperately swallow half of the water. Setting the glass down, I give him an apologetic smile. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I have no idea what to do.”
“First things first, would you like an appetizer?”
“Oh, right! Dinner.” I pick up the menu and quickly scan over the selection of appetizers.
I have zero appetite right now.
“The shrimp is very good here,” Callan murmurs. “Do you eat seafood?”
I nod, then say, “I’ll go with your recommendation.”
He gives me an encouraging smile, then asks, “Would you like me to place the order?”
I let out a chuckle. “Please.”
Callan signals for a waitress to come closer, and with an air of confidence I envy, he gives her our order. When she leaves us alone again, Callan’s eyes lock on me.
An unnerving feeling scurries down my spine, and I swallow hard.
“I don’t know if you recall, but we’ve met before,” he says. “At Starbucks a couple of weeks ago.”
Surprise ripples through me. “You remember me?”
He nods. “Of course. You ordered a breve latte.”
Wow. The man has one hell of a good memory. I’m officially impressed.
“You have a good memory,” I compliment him.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a grin that makes him look even more dangerously attractive. I glance at the flickering candle, the table cloth, the napkins, and cutlery – everywhere but at him.
“You like art?” he asks.
My eyes dart to him before I pick up my napkin and fold it into various shapes to keep my hands busy.
“Yes. I studied art. I’m an art conservator.”
Callan’s right eyebrow lifts, giving me the idea he’s impressed by what I’m saying, and it makes a foreign sensation creep into my heart.
“I’ve never met an art conservator. What do you do?”
I force myself to stop fiddling with the napkin and meet his eyes. “I restore damaged paintings, sculptures…any piece of art to their original state.”
Again, he seems impressed by what I said, and it gives me a confidence boost.
“I have a close friend who owns a gallery, so I know enough to hold a conversation about art.”