Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Not if it’s the good stuff,” he says, “but we’ll stick with Prosecco tonight.”
“Prosecco?”
“It’s a sparkling wine made in Italy. Champagne comes from France.”
“Oh.”
Not sure what else to say. I thought champagne was champagne. What’s the stuff Jazz and I drink on New Year’s?
I’m not about to ask Alex. Nope. I’m going to get over myself and enjoy our date.
He picks up his flute and smiles. His teeth are perfect, of course. So white and straight, and his lips may even be a little fuller than Brett’s.
I clink my glass to his. “To a nice evening.”
A nice evening. Brett probably would have made some kind of innuendo, which would have me squirming.
A nice evening is pure Alex. And you know what?
I’m still squirming.
“You look very pretty tonight.”
My cheeks warm. “Thank you.”
“That color is gorgeous on you.”
I’m in teal again. Last night I wore blue for my walk on the beach with Brett. But earlier in the evening my dress was teal, and my swimsuit was teal today, and what did I choose tonight?
Teal again—this time a sequined tube top and a denim mini skirt with sparkly silver slip-ons.
Both Evangeline and Emily—who knows fashion—said teal is my color, but in truth? I really like pinks and reds. Of course pink would clash horribly with the orangey highlights my stylist put in my hair.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “You look amazing. I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
“The sea air irritated my eyes a little today, so I didn’t want to put my contacts back in. When I’m home writing, I always wear my glasses.”
“You should wear them all the time.” I swirl the wine in my flute. “They suit you.”
“That might be one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.”
I force myself to make eye contact. My instinct is to always look down when I’m talking to one of the men.
But Emily’s words from last night ring in my mind.
You deserve to be here.
I take a sip, letting the bubbles dance over my tongue.
Clark comes by with two small plates. “Your appetizer,” he says, setting one in front of me.
I drop my jaw.
“Don’t tell me you don’t like fried green tomatoes,” Alex says.
“They’re only one of my favorite foods in the world!” I nearly shout.
“Chef dredged them in an egg wash and then cornmeal, with a simple seasoning of salt and pepper.” Clark serves Alex. “On the side is cajun aioli for dipping.” He bows and leaves us.
“How did you know?”
Alex smiles. “I didn’t. I told chef to make a gourmet southern dinner.”
I can’t help a laugh. “Gourmet and southern cooking aren’t words that usually go together.” I inhale the tangy scent of tomato laced with the comforting aroma of cornmeal. “How did you get green tomatoes here?”
“Chef came prepared, I guess. He knows where all of you ladies come from.”
“I can’t wait to dig in.” I cut a small piece of tomato with my knife and then spear it with my fork.
He nods. “Ladies first.”
The flavor bursts over my tongue—sweet and acidic and absolutely delicious. “Better than Mama’s even.”
“Wonderful. I live in New Orleans, and I eat these a lot. They’re great with grits for breakfast.”
“Right. I forgot you live there. So of course you know southern food.”
“And cajun and creole food. I make a mean étouffée.”
“You cook?”
“When I have the time, which isn’t often. I have staff to take care of me.”
I hold back a frown. Of course he has a staff. He’s a billionaire. I take another bite of tomato and wash it down with the champagne—er…Prosecco. The wine is delightful after the tangy taste of the tomatoes, but I don’t know why. I can’t describe it. I wish I could. Alex would no doubt be impressed. The other women would all know the right words.
Nope. Stop.
I deserve to be here.
And damn it, that’s the last time I’m going to have to remind myself. I’ve proved already that I can attract one of the billionaires—Brett. Alex got stuck with me in a drawing, but I’ll make it worth his while.
I swirl the next bite of tomato in the sauce, and the flavor explodes on my tongue. So good.
Clark returns with our dinners. “We have baby-back ribs seasoned with brown sugar and smoked paprika with a southern barbecue sauce on the side, collard greens sautéed in olive oil and bacon fat, and macaroni and cheese with my own special blend of cheeses and topped with crushed potato chips.”
My stomach lets out a soft growl. I gaze at Alex, but he doesn’t seem to have heard it. Then again, so what if he did? This meal is perfect.
“What can I get the two of you to drink? I have an excellent Petite Sirah from Paso Robles that would complement this perfectly.”
Alex looks to me, his eyebrows raised.
I have no idea what Petite Sirah is, though I figure it’s probably wine. Best not to ask for it if I don’t know if I’ll like it. “I’ll finish my Prosecco and have water with dinner, Clark. Make that sparkling water.” Ugh. I don’t even like sparkling water. Quit trying to be something you’re not, Ariel! “You know what? Make it regular water instead.”