Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“She was on the cruise I was on,” I explain. “We didn’t leave my cabin for hours, a couple of days if I’m being completely honest.”
Shaking his head, he chuckles. “It sounds like you had a hell of a vacation, Donovan.”
“Absolutely,” I agree.
“Does she live here?” He takes a sip of water. “Or was it truly a two ships passing in the night thing and she’s out of your life for good?”
“She lives here.” I tap the top of the table. “I saw her the other day and gave her my number but I’ve got nothing to report on that front.”
“So, she’s not interested in more?”
It would appear that way, but I believe the root of that is what she views as a complicated dynamic involving her brother. “I think she is but she’s hesitant.”
“I get that.” As he leans back, his suit jacket falls open to reveal a blue button-down shirt and an expensive tie.
Reid dresses the part of a successful businessman. I admire that about him. He’s put his all into his business and it’s paid off for him.
“You get that?” I chuckle. “Explain that to me.”
“She’s likely scared you’re going to screw over her brother once you get tired of screwing her.”
“I’d never get tired of screwing her,” I blurt out without thinking.
“Wait.” He tilts his head. “What exactly do you feel for Delia? Are we talking about more than a good time here, Donovan?”
If I had an answer to that, I wouldn’t be discussing any of this with him.
I shrug. “I like being around her. We have a hell of a lot of fun. I want more of that.”
He nods as he motions toward the waitress. “I’m not on call so I’m ordering a vodka and a burger to go with it. Talk to Delia again. Help her see that you won’t fuck up Matt’s life if it all goes to hell between you two.”
“That’s easier said than done.” I smile at the waitress as she approaches us. “I can’t do any of that unless she talks to me.”
“Give her a week to think about things, then go where you know you’ll find her. Manhattan isn’t that big. Running into her isn’t completely implausible.”
He may be right, but if Delia Hawthorne is determined to avoid me at all costs, I may never see her beautiful face in person again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Delia
One of the benefits of social media is that it can be a window into a person’s life. I’ve checked Nikita’s social media accounts sometimes when she isn’t answering my texts. I’ve done the same with my siblings, although Callum doesn’t partake.
He claims not to have an interest in anything related to social media and fortunately for him, his job doesn’t require him to make the rounds on there with the intention of trying to impress any prospective employers or clients.
Dr. Donovan Hunt does have a social media presence that reaches far and wide.
He has millions of followers who eat up his content like it’s the most delicious cake ever baked. He gets more comments and likes than most people would know what to do with, but he does make time to filter through everything to drop replies to some of those comments.
That happened less than an hour ago when he posted from an animal shelter in the West Village. The image was of him holding a beautiful white and brown kitten he had named Rufus.
He encouraged his followers to visit the shelter in the coming days to check out Rufus and his six littermates.
I doubt I can convince him that I’m standing outside the shelter because I’m interested in adopting a cat. I’m not at the moment, although I want to have a pet, or pets at some point.
I’d have to get approval from the tenant board in my building, but they tend to be easily swayed when it comes to accommodating new furry family members. A man who lives on the same floor as Mr. Winters and me has a cat and a dog. They don’t always get along, but he assures me they love each other very much.
The door to the shelter flies open as a woman and a little boy emerge. The woman is holding tightly to a leash that is attached to the collar of an adorable black dog.
“Hold the door for the nice lady,” she tells her son. “I bet she’s going to leave with a kitten.”
Or a handsome veterinarian.
I keep that thought to myself, but I offer them both a wide grin. “Your dog is beautiful.”
“He’s handsome,” the boy says, his toothy smile on display. “We named him Midnight. It’s cool, right?”
“It’s the coolest,” I tell him as I raise a hand to hold the door open myself so he can get back to hugging his dog. “I think he’ll be really happy with you.”