Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 275(@200wpm)___ 220(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
It all made sense now. Mila had probably brought him on purpose, knowing I’d be here.
Just like it was his job as captain to lead his team away from their losing streak. It was also his job to handle the PR roadblock of a columnist who said a brand new arena would be a bad investment.
If I hadn’t chosen The Pines and specifically requested a three-bedroom townhouse with a view, I’d be questioning whether he’d orchestrated us living next door to each other.
I tipped back the champagne, kicking myself for being so naïve.
“Elle!”
Marla Hampton was walking my way, the tall white feathers on her mask swaying gently with each step she took.
“I have some people for you to meet,” she said, taking my hand.
I braced myself, knowing one of them was probably her son. At least it was a distraction from Ford, though. It was all I could do not to look back at him.
Marla overestimated the amount of clout I had at the newspaper, introducing me to a businessowner named Jack Leman who wanted to complain about our news coverage. I had nothing to do with that department, but I listened and nodded anyway.
“We need more good news,” a woman standing in the circle of partygoers said. “The newspaper is just doom and gloom every day.”
“Hey, if it bleeds it leads, right, Elle?” Jack said. “That’s the problem with the Chronicle. It’s all sensationalized.”
“I can assure you our news coverage is real,” I said, bristling at his use of the word “sensationalized.”
“You can’t sell papers with good news, though,” Jack said.
This was part of the job—not kneecapping blowhards who thought they knew more about journalism than the people who had spent decades learning it and doing it. I smiled politely and sipped my champagne, relieved when a server passed by and I was able to order a gin and tonic.
By the time I finished my second gin and tonic, and looked around for someone I could order another one from, I was lightheaded and significantly less annoyed by Jack Leman. Between several glasses of champagne and a couple gin and tonics, I was well on my way to getting drunk for the first time in a while.
It was easy to justify since the money was going to charity. And I also wasn’t fixated on Ford anymore, though I had noticed him dancing with a woman in a red dress and felt a stab of jealousy.
He had ulterior motives, but it still felt good to be the object of his attention.
“I finally found him!” Marla said, racing up to me with a man in tow. “Elle, this is my son Darrell. He’s an executive VP at Hampton Enterprises and he’s single. Darrell, this is Eleanor Lawrence. She’s a columnist for the Denver Chronicle and her grandparents are some of the most generous philanthropists I know of.”
She looked between the two of us and said, “I’ll leave the two of you to get to know each other,” before giving her son a not-so-subtle shove in my direction.
I shook the ice cubes in my glass at a passing server. “Excuse me? Could I get another G&T please.”
“You hate these things as much as I do?” Darrell asked.
He was tall and lean, his light brown hair combed to the side. I couldn’t see much of his face behind his black and gold mask, but I didn’t need to. Carly had warned me about him, and I trusted her.
“I don’t mind them,” I said, not wanting to agree with him about anything.
“Can you tell my mom’s desperate for me to settle down?” He scanned the crowd, his gaze landing on the back of a woman wearing a tight, short dress.
“Yeah, I got that impression.”
The woman he was ogling turned around, and apparently the view of her front didn’t impress Darrell because he shifted his focus back to me.
“You mind lifting the mask so I can get a look at your face?” he asked.
He was disgusting in every way. Clearly he was sizing me up to see if he found me fuckable, and I wanted to tell him I’d let my vagina shrivel up and die before I allowed him anywhere near it.
I looked around the room, trying to form a response, and saw Ford was walking toward us, his mask in hand and a scowl on his face. God, he was hot in that tuxedo. A tingle spread from my chest downward as I imagined him stalking over here because he was jealous.
As a strong feminist, I wasn’t into possessive, demanding men.
In theory, at least. I could admit to myself that if Ford threw me over his shoulder and took me to bed right now, I’d enjoy the hell out of it.
“We should dance,” I said to Darrell.
“You mean the horizontal cha-cha?” he asked hopefully, looking over my shoulder.