Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
I have to? I balk at her. This woman is something else. “I already told you, Mrs. Russell. I booked this afternoon off as annual leave. I have things to do.”
Her demeanor changes in a split second, going from panicked to stern. “I’m afraid I must insist.”
“Sorry?”
“If you fail to fulfill your duties, my husband will be forced to find another PA.”
Another PA, or a nanny? I’m trying to rein myself in—really, I am, but this self-important wench would test the patience of a saint. I straighten my back and clear my throat. “I don’t believe my duties listed childcare.”
“What part of personal assistant don’t you understand?”
She just keeps on giving. Unbelievable. “I haven’t got time for this right now.” I whirl around and take the steps down to the street. “I will discuss it with Mr. Russell myself after the holidays,” I call over my shoulder, hurrying to the main road to hail a taxi. I have two hours to find five Christmas gifts. I can do it. No sweat.
I fall through the doors of the nearest department store, which happens to be Harrods, still reeling at the nerve of Mrs. Russell. My phone rings as I’m marching past the designer handbag section, and I inhale the patience I know I’m going to need when I see my sister’s name glowing up at me. “Judith.”
“Where are you?” As always, she’s straight to the point.
“Working.” I’m just one big fat can of lies today. But listening to my older sister harp on about how disorganized I am isn’t something I want or need to hear right now.
“Working as always. When are you going to get a life?”
I straighten my lips, marching on. “I have a life, thanks.” I catch an old lady as I pass, and she drops her bag. “I’m so sorry,” I say, scooping it up for her.
“Working?” Judith asks.
“Okay, so I’m shopping, but before you tell me how disorganized I am, I’ve literally just finished work.”
“I know. Ma just called me with an update and told me.”
“Then why the hell did you ask?” I put the bag in the lady’s hand and smile as I hurry away.
She ignores my question and hits me with a typical scathing—very Judith—statement. “I mean, it’s not like you have anything better to do. No fun to have, or men to date.”
“Did you call me to point out my supposed shortcomings?”
“No, I called to see if you’d babysit Ellis on New Year’s Eve so Heath and I can go out. Since we’re in London for the holidays, may as well make the most of it.”
“Why not? It’s not like I have anything fun and exciting to do. Or any men to date.” I’m not averse to dating. I just don’t have time.
“Fabulous. We’ve just got our bags at the airport. See you soon.” She hangs up as I find myself at a display of designer sunglasses.
“Excuse me.” An arm appears, reaching past me, and plucks a pair of fancy Chanel frames from the stand. The sleeve of his suit jacket slides up his arm as he does, revealing the cuff of a crisp white shirt and a shiny cufflink. I tilt my head to read the letters engraved on the silver square. An S and an F.
I look up and come face to face with the owner of the arm. And recoil. Whoa. I just stare at him as he inspects the shades, caught in a bit of a trance, my eyes traveling up and down his suited form. A damn fine form. He’s dashingly handsome—insanely so—with big hazel eyes, floppy blond hair, and a strong jaw. I breathe out slowly. He’s lovely, and then he flicks his eyes to mine and smiles, taking that loveliness up a thousand notches. Heat floods me, and as I continue to admire him, I decide here and now that S and F stand for “Sexy as fuck”. Good lord, where did he come from?
“Hi.” His voice is softer than his tall, well-defined frame would suggest, and it quickly snaps me out of my stupor.
Suddenly realizing that I’m gawking, I swallow and smile awkwardly, moving aside to give him room. “Sorry.” I continue browsing the designer shades, of which I can’t afford to buy. But, lord have mercy, another minute browsing him won’t hurt. Merry Christmas Eve to me.
“No worries,” he replies. “What do you think to these?” He holds up the Chanel glasses, and I dart my eyes to his. He’s asking me? I look over my shoulder, thinking maybe he’s with someone and they’re behind me. Or maybe there’s a store assistant lingering somewhere beyond.
But there’s no one around. Only us.
I return to him and find his stare is definitely on me. I point to my chest, and he smiles again. I nearly tell him to stop, because it’s rather disarming, and I don’t have time to be disarmed.