Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Nice try, Santa. You almost had me.”
I turn away from his grin, which is brighter than his fake white beard, when he says, “Next time, then?”
“There won’t be a next time.”
The last half of my reply makes my throat uncomfortable since I don’t wholly express it. As I turn back to face the jolly man, my mouth falls open. Santa is gone. His red cheeks and shiny black boots are nowhere to be seen, and a guy in a red velvet coat stands out among Floridians.
After shaking off my unease as a side effect of a long flight, I enter my sister’s restaurant while replying to Emma’s text.
Me:
Double of nothing is still nothing. I don’t work on my home turf. You know this.
As the hostess searches for the chef, an ellipsis trickles across my phone screen.
Emma:
He’s one of those deep-pocketed, most likely asshole stockbrokers. This could open up a ton of referrals. Things have been quiet of late. I’m not sure this is an opportunity you should give up.
Me:
My calendar is full until October.
The swiftness of her reply announces she preempted mine.
Emma:
By single desperate housewives who want to pretend they’re not paying to have their undercarriages serviced.
Me:
Em…
I’m interrupted by the hostess before I can complete my reply.
Well, I assume it is the hostess until my cock responds to the floral fragrance in the air long before my senses.
The brunette who mesmerized me only moments ago is standing next to me as if she’s my plus-one for my mother’s wedding, glancing down at my phone. She is even more dazzling up close. The fairy lights throughout the restaurant bounce off her sultry locks and halo her head like she’s more innocent than her voluptuous frame suggests.
When it dawns on her that she’s gained my utmost devotion, she purses her fuckable lips before asking, “You don’t have an account with Trust Bank, do you?”
“I do,” I answer promptly, even though I’m shocked at her weird line of questioning.
Asking someone their banking preference isn’t a pickup line I’ve ever used before.
If she weren’t standing across from me, I would have ended her attempt to sell me something by disconnecting our call.
The situation gets even weirder when she asks, “Would you be opposed to me using your account for a withdrawal?” It isn’t solely her question encouraging the awkwardness. It was my cock’s response to the faintest scrape of her teeth over her lower lip before she asked her question. “I’m not explaining myself very well. I—”
A man behind her cuts her off. “No beggars. It says so on the sign outside.”
“Actually,” I correct, twisting to face him, “it says if you require food or water, please enter. No one is discriminated here.”
When he can’t deny my claim—because it’s true—I guide the brunette to the side of the crowd lining up to get in before gesturing for her to continue.
She waits a beat to get over the snobby patron’s assumption she’s a haggler before announcing, “My purse and phone were stolen, and since I got a little generous with my nips while organizing new cards, I forgot I had no access to funds until I traveled halfway across Ravenshoe.”
“You need money?” I query, reading between the lines.
Even with her nose screwed up like a rabbit, her face is without a single imperfection. She truly is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. “Yes.” She freezes my movements when I dig my wallet out of my pocket by curling her hand over mine. “Not your money, as such. I’ll transfer money into your account, and then you can withdraw it for me.” Her dazzling chocolate eyes scan the street outside. “I’m sure there’s an automatic teller here somewhere.”
After recalling my sister’s numerous gripes about how often her payment terminals go down and the lack of ATMs in the area, I say, “You won’t find a teller within four blocks.” When she sighs, I give a reason for an upswing in her mood. “But I don’t mind lending you money. You can pay me back tomorrow…” I stop just before I say, “When you join me for dinner.” I don’t date. I haven’t in years, though I’m sure my clients would disagree with me. “How much do you need?”
“The ad said prices start at two fifty.” When I grimace along with her, she adds, “But it’s okay. I’ll find another way to fund my revenge fu...” Her eyes shoot away as her words trail off.
Her reply piques my interest in more ways than I can comprehend, but I start at the lesser of my confusion. “Two hundred and fifty dollars?” When she nods, I cough out a wheezy laugh. “Anyone would swear you’re eating here for that.”
My joke is lost on her since she doesn’t know my sister owns the restaurant, but she still replies, “I’m not the one eating.” Her brows pull together. “I hope.” She shakes off her confusion. “I’m not exactly sure how it works. I’ve never done this before.” She throws her hands in the air and soundlessly screams out her frustration before returning her eyes to me. “Don’t worry about it. It’s stupid. I acted in haste, and that never ends well. I just wanted to prove that I’m not the problem, and even when it comes to sex, there’s no I in team.”