Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Gah, this guy is the gift that keeps on giving. He saved me from a hospital trip tonight and I get to say “I told you so” to my cantankerous boss because of him. Plus the flirting? He’s making me feel like I’m Adriana Lima sans angel wings. I should get him to fill out a lottery ticket for me.
“Glad to help,” he says.
“I’ll get you some sparkling water, too,” I say. “On the house. What with you saving my life, offering to let me nap and then letting me get one up on George.”
The front door opens and the Radcliffes file in. It’s their daughter’s fourteenth birthday tonight.
I glance back at the American. “I’ll be back with your drinks.”
I wave at Carly Radcliffe as I approach. “I have your table for you. Happy birthday, Ilana!” Ilana turns puce with embarrassment.
I show the Radcliffes to their table and grab some menus for them. They must know what’s on offer back to front by now and they’ll order what they had last Wednesday anyway. We only change the menu twice a year, from summer to winter. Then about every eighteen months, George adds a new dish and takes one away, at which point Meghan, Peter, and I moan constantly for at least six weeks until we’ve gotten used to it. We just added a Cobb salad that no one ever orders. I do wonder why George doesn’t consult with us first before he does these things.
I glance back over at the American and feel my knickers tugging, trying to free themselves under my skirt. He’s so freaking gorgeous. And those hands? Those shoulders? Even his eyebrows are hot. How is that even possible? And he’s cute to talk to. Easy. Doesn’t take himself too seriously. Doesn’t mind when I fall into him and just sit there awhile.
“How are you all this evening?” I ask the Radcliffes. “Shall I bring a jug of tap water and the cheesy garlic bread for you all to nibble on?” That’s what I always do for the Radcliffes. No doubt, George will shout at me for bringing out the bread before they’ve placed the order, because he’ll tell me people should be hungry when they order or they’ll order less, but I know that’s crap when it comes to the Radcliffes. It wouldn’t matter if I ordered them a cheesy garlic bread each. I know Carly will order the chicken, Dave will order the rib eye medium rare. Joe will order the lasagna or the pizza and Ilana will have the chicken burger and only eat two bites.
“Thanks, Kate,” Carly says and I head back to the till to place the orders.
When I finally pour the American’s tequila, because George refuses, I take a tray with the lowball and the sparkling water over.
“Tequila and sparkling water,” I say as I set the drinks on the table. “You wanted it neat, right?”
“Absolutely,” he says. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” I reply.
He raises his eyebrows. “Is it?”
A wave of lust races up my spine and I suppress a shudder, but I hold his gaze. “It is.”
“I like that,” he replies.
I turn and head back to the kitchen before my mouth can override my brain again. I’m at risk of telling him I’m one hundred percent attracted to him, and whatever he wants to do to me with those pouty lips and large, strong hands, I’m down.
FIVE
Vincent
I didn’t expect to enjoy dinner at the Golden Hare this much. Seeing Kate here was an unexpected surprise. She’s fun. And flirty. And a breath of the fresh air I’m so desperately craving right now. I’ve watched her flitting from table to table, taking orders, making small-talk, delivering plates and drinks and more plates and more drinks.
“Oh no!” Kate says as she approaches my table. “You didn’t like the buttermilk chicken? I’ve never known anyone not to like it.”
“The chicken was exceptional,” I reply.
She glances from my plate up at me and then back down at my plate. “It doesn’t look like you thought it was exceptional. What about the tryptophan you’re missing out on?”
I wonder if she interrogates any guest who doesn’t finish their food, or has she saved that just for me? “I think I might go for a run later. I just don’t want to overeat.”
She narrows her eyes at me as if she’s deciding whether or not I’m telling the truth.
I want to see what Crompton House looks like in the dark, and I want to confirm what I already know: I’m going to make an offer on the estate. I need to get an architect, surveyor, and team of people in to look the place over, but I’m confident we can make it work.
For the right price.
“Run?” she asks as if she must have misheard me.
“It’s like walking but faster,” I explain.