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)
She snaps her mouth shut like her honesty mortifies her.
I fucking love it.
“I shouldn’t have bothered you. I hope you have a pleasant evening, and Merry Christmas.”
“I’ll lend you the money.” I shout my words to ensure she hears them before she exits the restaurant. My reply gains her a lot of sympathetic looks I’m confident she doesn’t want. Her rapidly shrinking shoulders announce this, not to mention the dulling of the spark mesmerizing me.
With her embarrassment high, I can guide her without protest into the underbelly of the hub my sister built from the ground up.
Once we’re far from prying eyes, I say, “But it’ll have to be a check. Scrooge McDuck over there siphoned the last of my cash.” I nudge my head to Santa, who’s once again tapping his nose. “Do you know if they accept checks?”
“I truly don’t know,” the brunette replies as we enter my sister’s office, which is hidden at the back of the kitchen. “I could ask.” I seem to be getting her over the fence, but she is uneased by my generosity. “But why do you want to lend me money? You don’t know me. I could be halfway to Mexico with your money by tomorrow morning.”
I laugh. “If you have the means to pull that off, please take me with you. The chilaquiles on my last room service charge almost cost that much.”
That gets a smile out of her. It is a sexily wicked grin that summons up all sorts of naughty thoughts. “That’s what you get for taking the cheat’s way out. You don’t go to Mexico to eat in your room.”
She has a point, but things are different in my industry. The more time I spend indoors, the faster I can move on to my next client.
“How about we fill in a check and see how it goes? If it’s meant to be—”
“It’s meant to be,” we say at the same time.
Needing something to cover how hard her smile makes me, I walk around my sister's desk before plopping my ass into her massive leather chair. Her desk is a mess, but after a quick cleanup, I find the checkbook I’m seeking and enough space to fill it in.
“You own this restaurant?” asks the brunette, her tone high in shock.
“Not exactly.” I open the checkbook at the next available check before securing a pen. “I’m a silent investor.” I wave the pen around the mess that doesn’t reflect the luxury of the menu. “This is my sister’s brainchild.” I’m not usually so open with women I’ve just met, so after a somewhat shy smile for how quickly she’s disarmed me, I ask, “What’s the name of the business you want this made out to?”
Now it’s her turn to be shy. Her smile slips as she whispers, “Valentino’s.”
I reach the T in Valentino’s before the entirety of her reply smacks into me. Then, just as dramatically, my pen falls onto the checkbook and my back slouches against the worn leather of my sister’s chair.
“Valentino’s?” I double-check, certain I’ve heard her wrong. There are a lot of famous Italian restaurants in Ravenshoe that sound similar to Valentino’s, but none with that exact title.
“Yes,” she replies, her tone lowering. “Have you heard of it before?”
“You could say that. Ah…” I cough to clear my throat from whatever the fuck is going on with it before asking, “Why do you need to attend Valentino’s?” The hue creeping up her neck answers my question on her behalf, not to mention her earlier comment. “Revenge.”
She sounds determined while saying, “There’s no better way to get revenge—”
“Than to sit back and do nothing.”
Her swallow is audible, but it’s the sole sound she makes.
Although she isn’t a client of mine, I can’t help but offer her some advice. “Showing him you don’t give a fuck about losing him will burn him more than anything. You know that, right?”
She swivels on the spot, fanning out the short hemline of her little black dress. “Yes. But…”
I wait and wait and wait for her to finalize her reply.
It is worth every damn second.
“I’m also horny. Whiskey does that to me, so when the advertisement for Valentino’s popped up on my laptop, I thought, what the hell, I deserve a treat. It’s been months since I’ve climaxed, and they have a climax-or-don’t-pay promise.” Her dramatic exhale ruffles the strands of hair curtaining her beautiful face. “What girl wouldn’t take them up on their offer?”
“A girl who shouldn’t need to pay to get her rocks off.”
I meant my reply as a compliment, but she’s horrified by it. “Please don’t say that.” The range of her eye roll is impressive. “The last man who said that to me left me hanging… on my birthday of all days… Then he let her have her way with the elves who spewed Christmas vomit over everything.” With a groan, she slumps into the chair across from me and balances her head in her hands. “This week sucks.”