Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
8
RAINE
Don’t ask me how my craptastic day ended with me sipping Pinot Noir over fettuccine Bolognese and chowing the best focaccia bread I’ve ever had in my life, ’cause I had no idea. I mean, c’mon…I’d started the morning by branding my shirt with an iron, and now I was sitting across from a sexy-as-fuck, snazzy-looking bear at a candlelit table in a posh London restaurant. Not too shabby.
So yes, the bear was technically my boss, and this was a last meal. But he was also the guy I’d opened my legs for and begged to fuck me a few weeks ago in Vegas. The lines were very blurry here. But it didn’t matter. The wine was fabulous, the food was amazing, and Graham fucking Horsham was one sexy motherfucker.
Yep, I was buzzed. No fucks given. I was on my way out, so I might as well enjoy myself, right?
I needed a little fantasy and whimsy in my life and this was all very, very nice—fancy linens, votive candles, and a semiprivate table. No complaints here.
Collins had whisked us across town to a quaint alley off Regent Street, where a well-dressed maître d’ with a thick Italian accent had greeted Graham with a firm handshake and a broad smile. I’d gaped at the lush red leather booths and contemporary chandeliers that resembled falling stars as the man led us through the beautiful modern restaurant to a quiet section.
Thick parchment menus, complimentary champagne followed by a lux bottle of wine, delicious focaccia and the yummy kind of butter with flakes of sea salt on top, and a view of fairy lights on the outdoor patio…gah, I was in freaking heaven.
The best part was that this didn’t feel awkward.
We talked as easily as we had at that gross dive bar in Vegas, though most of our conversation so far had centered around food. The best Italian and Indian restaurants, how to bake bread (buy it), and our thoughts on the last season of The Great British Bake Off (Pru and Paul were the best).
I wasn’t sure if Graham realized it, but he had a reputation amongst his staff for being scary as fuck and intense. From what I could tell, his employees liked working for him but hoped to avoid him in the hallway. This was a different version of Graham. This guy was relaxed.
He’d left his tie in the SUV, taken his suit jacket off after his second glass of vino, and rolled up his sleeves when his soup arrived. This Graham’s twinkling blue eyes sparked with humor and hinted at the kind of mischief that made me wonder what he’d been like as a kid.
I wondered a lot of things about him.
“Out of curiosity…how did you start your company?” I asked as the waiter cleared our plates.
Graham swirled the contents of his glass and took a sip. “I worked for a small financial firm in Birmingham out of uni. It was an awful job with long hours and a boss I despised. He liked lording his position over the rest of us. He was demeaning, small-minded, and enjoyed making others feel bad about themselves. I hated it and I hated him, but…I needed the money. I had no choice but to shut up and put up.”
“You? I can’t picture anyone telling you what to do.”
“That was a struggle for me,” he confirmed with a wolfish smile. “But we do what we must to survive. One day it occurred to me that I’d learned just enough about the business to put my knowledge to use. It also struck me that with the right financial backing, I could start my own firm and acquire my employer. So I did.”
“Wow. I’m guessing your former boss didn’t make the cut.”
Graham’s eyes turned a steely color of gray. “He did not. Funny enough, he went on to a competitor and has done a stellar job of running that institution into the ground. It’s a shame to see good things ruined by idiots, so once again, I’m in the process of acquiring a firm run by him.”
I widened my mouth in a perfect O. “Mint and chip?”
And just like that, the hard shell cracked and dissolved, replaced by a lopsided sexy grin that made my heart skip a beat.
“Or…Mint and Cooperton. Though mint and chip has a nice ring.”
“My favorite flavor of ice cream, by far,” I singsonged, thanking the server for the dessert menu. I pretended to peruse the selection for a moment. “How’s the acquisition going?”
“Not fast enough,” he griped, tracing the edge of the menu with his thumb. “But it will happen.”
Graham’s tone dripped with ice and a side of malice that felt personal. I almost felt sorry for the prick at mint and chip. He’d obviously fucked with the wrong dude.
“It seems to be the main event in the office. All anyone talks about. The deal, I mean…not the jerk you want to take down.”