Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
His loud scoff drags my eyes to him. “Happy to be leaving me? Got it.”
“You clearly didn’t want me to be there,” I toss out the little reminder. Though I could reference his favorite line, it’s not worth stirring up trouble again, especially when he was kind enough to stop and help me. I have a feeling his kindness doesn’t extend far, so I better make plans for the night as soon as we get to town.
When he picks up speed, I roll up my window to keep the cold out. The cab is instantly cozier, leaving me to breathe a little easier. We only get a mile or so before I ask, “Where are you taking me?” Why do I sound like he’s forgiven? He’s not.
“To eat.”
I sit forward and glare at him. “What? Why?”
“Because someone threw my dinner out.” He’s not wrong.
Resting back again, I cross my arms over my chest. He’s not getting an apology out of me until he says it first. And judging by how he’s seemingly ignoring me, I think it will be a long time coming.
That’s okay. I have all night.
7
Poppy
Cutting the engine, he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. They’re so blue, a powdery blue standing in contrast to his dark hair, but not his mood. By all appearances, he fits the air he gives off—brooding. A little Edward Cullen. A lot Lestat.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I interrupted his night, which is a no-no in my business. Clients of his magnitude, who can afford my fees as a personal chef, generally don’t like to have contact with the staff. I consider it a perk of my job, if I’m being honest. In this case, my bad.
Although that leaves me unsure of when he expects me to prepare his dinner, I wonder if I was wrong. It’s his house. His time, which I’m sure is valuable, considering he can afford a private chef for a week in the middle of nowhere. In comparison, I’m being paid for mine to be there.
His heavy sigh has me imagining him dragging his feet. “Are you hungry?”
“Are you asking me on a date?”
No laugh, making me think my joke didn’t land as intended. His jaw tic grabs my attention as his gaze shoots forward through the windshield toward the restaurant. I’m given another sigh, more exasperated than the last, and then he says, “You seem to be good at stalking, so I guess I don’t need to tell you where to find me.” He gets out of the truck and shuts the door before I have time to understand what he’s even talking about.
Stalking?
What the hell?
I grab my phone, ready to call Marina, but when I search the dash of the car, there doesn’t seem to be anywhere for me to charge it. There’s a lighter and the air conditioner has a slider. By the style, I knew the truck was old, but it’s ancient. He’s probably some techie millionaire who paid too much so he can pretend he’s down to earth.
He's lucky I signed an NDA.
Speaking of, I don’t even know his name. With a dead phone and no way to access my emails, that only leaves one way for me to find out. I hop out of the truck and march into Maggie’s Café to find him. What else am I going to do? Sit out here and wait for him.
A bell dings above my head when I open the door. I don’t need to stop and look around. He stands out in the bustling restaurant and bar.
I’ll give it to him; he knows how to be difficult. He doesn’t even bother to look, though I know he knows I’m here. I tap my fingers on the back of the wooden chair across from him.
It’s then that I realize I can’t ask him. That makes me look like an idiot for not knowing who I agreed to work for. I know it said a production company of some sort, but I’m not sure if it ever specifically named the client.
His eyes finally lift from the menu, and he stares at me. Getting a full look at his face causes my knees to weaken. Good lord, I had no idea men like him—body of a superhero and a face that belongs on magazine covers—walked on this planet. Holy crap, he’s hot. He’s just out here living in the world like he doesn’t look, well, like this.
He shifts, using the menu to wall himself off from the restaurant area. “I’d prefer you sit rather than stand staring at me all night.” His eyes dart around the room as if I’ve embarrassed him with the unwanted attention.
I look around as well. No one is looking at him, but I catch a few eyeing me up. “They all have their own lives to live. Nobody cares what we’re doing.”