Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I remove the tart from the bag and flip open the lid. The sweet aroma fills the space around us, drawing Mr. Black to the edge of the doorway like a magnet. He takes the box in his hands and brings it up to his nose. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath.
“This smells divine,” Mr. Black says in blissful approval. I smile up at Mr. Hammond, and when he gleams back at me, I melt.
“The bakery claims it’s the best in Manhattan, and I thought you’d like to give it a try.”
Luckily, Mr. Hammond takes over the conversation. I’m still worried I’ll blurt out some fangirl nonsense. I feel the words, “I’m your biggest fan,” dancing on the tip of my tongue. God help me.
“So, you just happened to be in the neighborhood, or were you on the way to your family home around the corner?” Mr. Black grips the boxed tart, pulling it closer to himself. At least we scored on the dessert.
I stand wide-eyed realizing Mr. Hammond was raised in a home like this estate with servants and silver spoons. I shrink inside, feeling like the complete outsider between these two wealthy men.
“Hell, Don, you know exactly why I’m here,” Mr. Hammond scoffs, pushing his hands into his pant pockets.
“Yeah. Yeah,” Mr. Black mutters, backing away from the entrance. “Might as well come inside. I’ll give you fifteen minutes. After that, I’m eating my tart.”
Mr. Black grins at me with a devilish flash in his eyes. I knew I’d love him.
13
Barclay
Miss Holly and I cross the threshold, following Don inside. Classical tapestries hug the walls of the entryway, along with several large cats. My nose twitches. I try not to recoil when a fluffy gray one approaches me, weaving through my legs, pressing against my slacks. The guards at Buckingham Palace don’t stand as still as me. Thankfully, Miss Holly bends down, reaching out a hand toward the furry creature.
“What a sweetie pie,” she purrs as the cat moves toward her. She tickles her fingers under the cat’s chin. “What’s its name?”
“That’s Darcy,” Don says. Another cat saunters over to greet Miss Holly. I might end up needing an epi-pen before I leave this house. “Along with his companion, Elizabeth.”
“Literary names. I love it.” Miss Holly stands up, and it’s a damn good thing too. I caught a glimpse of white lace peeking out from under the edge of her short hem. I’m facing death by dander and trench coat.
“My wife, Gertrude, keeps adopting these four-footed animals. After all, Saint Gertrude is the patron saint of cats, though she does let me name them. Catsby’s over in the corner.” Don points to a sleek black feline sprawled near a marble statue of Venus. Figures he’s seated at the foot of a love goddess.
I sneeze a couple times. Shit. My neck feels itchy too. Wonder if we can take the meeting outside …
“You okay, Barclay?” Don asks.
“Allergies,” I cough out between sneezes. Where were all the cats during his sixtieth birthday party?
“You need some fresh air. Let’s talk out on the veranda,” Don says, then turns to Miss Holly. “Do you work for Hammond Press?”
“I do not,” she says, looking at me to fill in the blanks.
What are they really? Who is she? That’s the better question.
The hot girl I saw last night shows up in my office, wears a trench coat while her clothes are cleaned, and I’m using her to get you to open the door. Yeah, that doesn’t sound professional, or believable given she looks like a strip-a-gram.
“We’re friends. She’s visiting from Alabama.”
“Oh.” Don darts his eyes between us. “Family friends then?”
“Something like that,” I say before I can even think. What’s wrong with me? I never lie. I’ll blame it on my brain fog from the cats and virginal panties.
Don squints one eye and shakes his head. One glance at Miss Holly’s shocked expression makes me wonder if he knows the truth.
“Tessa. It’s all right if I call you that, since you’re Barclay’s friend?”
“Of course. I’m not used to being this formal around friends.” She looks at me, eyes full of mischief.
“Would you mind entertaining yourself in my library while Barclay and I talk business?”
“Your library? Really?” she asks with eager surprise as Don nods. “I can’t believe it.”
“It’s the second room on the right.” Don gives her a warm smile and leads us down a hallway with an arched entrance. He opens a large wooden door, and we enter into the library. “Help yourself with anything on the shelves. My library is yours.”
Bookcases line the side walls, while the back one has floor-to-ceiling windows, letting light pour into the library. The sun catches Miss Holly’s golden hair, making an angelic halo, and I can’t look away from her. Her beauty leaves me breathless—or it’s the felines.