Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“So can I get you a drink?” My voice causes Lucy to jump, but she recovers quickly and spins around to face me, hand on her heart.
“You scared me,” she stammers. “I was just looking at your…your…sorry, I’m not old enough to drink.”
“I’m not gonna card you, Lucy,” I laugh, walking past her and over to my wet bar in the corner of the room. I start to wash my hands then look up. “Wait a minute, how old are you? You’re not underage, are you?”
Lucy giggles again – that giggle that goes all the way up my body, causing a pulse in my center region. “No. Not that kind of underage. Just not old enough to drink yet. I’m nineteen.”
“Eh, that’s close enough,” I reply, waving my hand dismissively as I reach for some of the cocktail ingredients. “I’ll make us both something tasty. We can sip on it while you tell me all about yourself.”
“All about myself, huh?”
“Well, you know all about me, I assume. From watching the news?”
Lucy shrugs and comes over to the bar, watching me as I mix our drinks. “I know a little. I know you’re rich.”
“And our Jeopardy winner is!”
She smiles. “I know you built up Rooke Industries from nothing. You’re a high school dropout. Didn’t you start selling T-shirts or something? Built up your own clothing line?”
“That’s right,” I nod, pouring our drinks into two glasses. “Sold T-shirts around school. They got popular, started selling to other schools. More and more. I couldn’t keep up with demand and my studies, so I picked the one bringing in money. Eventually grew the T-shirts into an entire clothing line which I sold when I was twenty-seven for two hundred million.”
“Chump change.” Lucy smiles as I hand her her drink.
“Is that right?”
“What’s in this?” she asks.
“It’s a cucumber melon margarita. You’ll like it.” I cheers her, and we both take a sip. Lucy tries to fight it, but her lips pucker up and she breathes out heavily as she swallows. I chuckle. “You really aren’t a girl who drinks much, are you?”
“I told you, I’m not old enough!”
“That doesn’t stop most teenagers,” I laugh.
“Maybe not, but I’m not most teenagers.” She says it with such pride that I just can’t resist probing for additional information.
“Oh, no? Tell me more.”
Lucy pauses, twists her lips to the side, then takes a breath. “Let’s just say I like to be in control – and not in a weird, domineering, I-like-to-control people kind of way either, okay? I just like to be in control of my life. I like to plan things. Come up with a plan and stick to that plan. Alcohol takes you out of control, and I’ve seen too many people do too many dumb things that affected their lives in a negative way because of alcohol.”
“Wow,” I reply, impressed. “Aren’t you impressive? So your flight being delayed must have really upset this…vacation of yours?”
Lucy rolls her eyes, groans, and takes another sip of her drink. “Tell me about it. I had everything planned out, down to the tiniest little detail.”
“Yeah, but if your flight hadn’t been delayed, you never would have met me, now would you?”
I smile, our eyes meet, and a magic moment hangs in the air between us.
“Yeah, that’s true.”
3
LUCY
This is crazy. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s like I’ve been completely thrown off balance. Like Jason has inserted a key into my chest and unlocked an entire side of me I never even knew existed, and that side of me is now fighting for control against the side that normally runs my life.
I mean, I’m sipping a margarita. What? It’s not like I’ve never been offered alcohol before, but I’ve turned it down and never felt wrong or weird or strange for doing so. I’ve been confident enough in myself to say no, and I didn’t accept this time just because Jason Rooke is who he is. I accepted because I felt like I actually wanted to have a drink with him for whatever reason. And you know what? I’m actually enjoying it.
“So tell me more,” he says as he leads me over to a caramel leather couch that is somehow both decadent and sleekly modern at the same time. “I want to hear everything about you.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.” My God, his eyes. They’re like laser beams cutting right through me. I feel as if I don’t even need to tell him anything; I feel as if he knows already. “I bet you were a great student.”
“Well, yes,” I reply, feeling myself blush. “You could say that. I was an honors student. Did lots of extracurriculars.”
“That must have made your parents proud.”
“You could say that.” I nod.
“And you’re going to college? I bet a gal like you applied early admission.”
“I sure did.” I smile. Again, it’s like he can read my mind.