Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
His eyes bore into mine. “Give it.”
I grunt. “Fine.”
He answers the call, putting it on speaker. “Hello?”
“Oh… hello?”
“Who’s this?” Tate growls. Great, the poor telemarketer is going to hang up before I get a chance to yell.
“Vince. Uh, is this Mindy’s phone?”
Vince? Oh, Vince! “Give me that.” I snag my phone out of his hand, ignoring his deep frown. “Hey, Vince. Hi. It’s me.”
“Oh, hey. I thought I had the wrong number for a second.”
“No, you got me. How are you? Busy saving damsels and selling real estate?”
His laugh is subtle and cute. “More the second one and being haunted by the smell of cats.”
A laugh bursts out of me, and I pivot toward the window, tuning out a growling Tate. “So, what’s up?”
“Nothing. Thought I’d take a leap and see if you’re available for dinner sometime.”
“You’re not,” Tate says, while I answer, “I’m super free, actually.”
“Wow, great. Um, I’d love to take you to dinner. Your pick. I’m not sure if you’re allergic to anything or what you don’t like—”
“I’m flattered by the concern, but I’ll eat just about anything.”
“Great. How about the day after tomorrow? I know this great sushi place downtown. If that works, I can pick you up—”
“I’ll take you,” Tate chimes in.
“Are you—did I catch you at a bad time?”
I twist in my seat and snarl at Tate. “Of course not. That’s just my roommate. He’s a pain in my ass sometimes. He has to head downtown to the clinic—sketchy rash, if ya know what I mean—so he can just drop me off.”
I smile as his hands tighten around the steering wheel.
“Okay, yeah. That works. Say around seven o’clock?”
“Perfect. I can’t wait. I’m really glad you called. Perfect timing, too.”
Yeah, that was a dig at Tate. Grow up, Mindy.
“Me too. See you soon.”
I hang up, sporting a smile.
“Now’s not the time to be going on dates.”
“Good thing you don’t get an opinion.” He doesn’t say anything else. Smart boy. When we get to the hotel, we’re met by Detective Rochel. He lets us know there will be an officer patrolling the area, and hotel security is aware of my situation. The hotel manager escorts us to the penthouse suite, which is seriously badass. I try to keep my cool, but I’ve never been to such a fancy hotel. “I hope the room is to your liking. The primary bedroom is upstairs. You will find the—”
“And where is the second bedroom?” I ask.
“This particular suite only has one primary room, ma’am.”
I cringe for two reasons. One, he called me “ma’am.” And two, there’s only one bed. Great. Hope Tate enjoys sleeping in a lounge chair on the balcony. The bellman drops our bags and asks if we need anything else.
“Thanks. We’re good.” Tate cuts in. He won’t be once he finds out he’s using a towel as a blanket tonight. He tips the bellman. The gentleman nods politely and turns to leave.
“Wait—” I call out to him. “Just to confirm, is there caviar on the menu?”
“I believe so, ma’am.”
Goddammit with this “ma’am” bullshit!
“Great. I’ll take two orders.”
He nods. “Of course. I will have it delivered shortly.”
“If there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to call.” The manager hands Tate his personal card and shuts the door behind them.
“What’s with the caviar?”
“I’m indulging. I eat caviar when I indulge.” I’ve never had caviar in my life. I just want to feel Pretty Woman-ish. It probably tastes like dirt.
Tate dismisses me and moves through the suite, inspecting the space. When he heads toward the stairs, I quickly spit out, “Bedroom’s mine. Feel free to get cozy in the tub or hallway.” I grab my bag and hiss at the soreness.
“Let me help you—”
“I’m fine—”
“Stop being so stubborn. You’re only makin’ in worse.” He clutches the handle and tosses my bag over his shoulder. “After you.” After an impressive eye sneer, I start my own tour.
The first floor is breathtaking, with an intimate seating area, spacious living room, bathroom, and dining area. The upstairs is just as beautiful. Both levels have access to a huge balcony facing the city skyline. And just as I thought, there’s a soaking tub. “You and I have a date later,” I tell the marble bathtub. “And you,” I point to Tate. “Out.”
Like a good boy, he obeys, dropping my bag on the bed and closing the door. I finally release a staggered breath and grip the bathroom counter for support. I gaze down at my wound. “You’re going to be a problem, aren’t you?” I groan. For such a little cut, it sure packs a big punch.
From downstairs, I hear the doorbell.
Inhaling and releasing a long breath, I push off the counter and make my way down.
“Is there anything else you need, Miss Parks?”
“No, that’ll be all.” When he leaves, I lift the tray and scrunch my nose at the smell. Picking up the fancy baby spoon, I take a little scoop and place it in my mouth. Then I spit it right back out. “Gross. How do people eat this stuff?” I drop the top, using the napkin to scrape off my tongue. “All yours.” I go over to the mini bar. “This? All mine.” I snake a few mini bottles from the fridge.