Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Leave it to my assistant to want to help a stranger out. “Charlotte is the person you went away with?”
She nods. “We stayed at her flat in Paris. I always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, and the view from her place was breathtaking. I’ll never forget it.”
My brow knits. “That was your first time in France?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I’ve been to Australia and Paris now, too. I haven’t traveled much. The Australia trip was with my mom. It was a graduation gift.”
I have questions about all of that, including what Randall shared about Evangeline’s ambitions in the world of ballet and the bike accident that changed that.
My phone starts ringing in my jacket pocket, startling both of us. I dig it out because my grandfather once told me to always answer a ringing phone. I’ve followed that advice for years, and it has served me well.
My sister’s name pops up on the screen, so I glide to my feet to take the call in the privacy of my bedroom. “I need to answer this. Don’t move a muscle.”
“I won’t.” Evangeline smiles softly. “I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Evie
A woman can only wait on an uncomfortable couch for so long before she sets out on a boss finding mission.
This woman’s limit clocked in at thirty seven minutes. That’s how long I’ve been sitting in this spot, savoring every last drop of the coffee that Basil picked up for me.
When I got down to the last sip of the over-priced beverage, I plucked the lid off and tilted the cup up so I wouldn’t waste a drop of it.
If I didn’t love watching some of my favorite old sitcoms after work some nights, I might be tempted to give up the streaming service I pay a few dollars for monthly. I could direct that money toward one cup of this coffee.
On paper, the old sitcoms outweigh the few minutes of coffee pleasure, but my taste buds are currently telling me it would be worth it.
As I slide to my feet, I make a mental note to revisit the question of comedy versus caffeine.
I take a few steps toward the hallway that leads to Mr. Hunt’s bedroom. I listen intently, but all I hear is the whir of the refrigerator. That’s another space age appliance that has me baffled.
During one of my errand filled trips here, I was in desperate need of a glass of ice water, so I grabbed a tumbler from the cupboard and held it under the ice dispenser on the fridge door.
Nothing happened…absolutely nothing came out as I held the glass there.
I tried swiping the glass under the sensor. I ran it beneath it quickly and then slowly. I tried talking to the fridge to ask for the ice.
“Please, fridge, may I have some ice?”
Nothing. Nada. Not one piece of ice popped out until I turned my back, and boom!
A rush of small ice cubes came spitting out, bouncing all over the wood floor.
I settled for a cool glass of tap water before I spent the next thirty minutes cleaning melting ice off the floor.
“Mr. Hunt?” I call out his name in case the man is deep in thought.
With anyone else, I may consider the possibility the silence is because the person I’m approaching is listening to whoever is on the other end of the call, but this is Mr. Hunt.
He can’t stop talking for very long.
“Hello?” I drag that out slowly. “Mr. Hunt, are you all right?”
It’s not that I’m that concerned about him, but I still need a job, so I have to do whatever it takes to get and stay on my boss’s good side.
I slowly approach the partially open door of his bedroom. I hear absolutely nothing, so I do what any good executive assistant would. I try to peer inside without making a sound.
I don’t spot my boss, so I push the door open an inch more, while quietly clearing my throat.
That’s when I see him.
Mr. Hunt is sitting in the armchair in the corner of his bedroom. The lighting is dim, so it takes a split second for my eyesight to adjust to what I’m looking at. Once it comes into view, I can’t help but stare.
His suit jacket is tossed on the bed. His tie is there, too. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone.
Semi-formal Reid Hunt is all kinds of gorgeous. A lot of that likely has to do with the fact that he’s fast asleep and not barking orders at me.
I spot his phone on the floor, so I grab it.
I can’t imagine he would have fallen asleep mid phone call, but it’s a remote possibility, so I spin the screen toward me. That’s enough to reveal the image that my boss must have been looking at before he drifted off.