Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Fin is convinced she’ll be making a fortune from the video, but just as before, she’s inadvertently done us a huge favor. Once it hit the internet, the world was into us—rather than onto us—and anyone who had anything to do with Maven Inc. was suddenly so very charmed.
We’ve been showered with gifts by the world’s wealthy, and let me tell you, billionaires know how to gift! From his-and-hers matching Cartier watches to his-and-hers matching Mercedes. Yes—someone bought us cars!
Fin, ever the professional, suggested we extend the invitation to include clients, past and present. And I agreed. Especially as we’ll be auctioning off goodies and donating the proceeds to charity. Dementia research—I want to eradicate this thief of a disease.
“You know what we should’ve done,” Evie says as her feet slow to a stop.
“Dazzle me.” I’m not sure how she could top this party at all.
“We should’ve persuaded Oliver to complete one of those online wedding-officiant courses.”
“What for?”
“Just for shits and giggles. Could you imagine his face?”
“Doing funerals maybe, not weddings.”
Evie begins to laugh and almost falls over Mr. Bojangles as he contorts himself in an attempt to chew on his bow tie. The dapper doggy is dressed for the occasion.
“Damn dog!” she exclaims before ruffling his floofy body.
“Well, I’m going to get back to my checklist,” I say, pulling my iPad back in place.
“You should’ve let us get a company in,” she chastises playfully.
“I did let you. My company!” Because, of course, I’ll be sending Maven Inc. my bill.
“What time is Baba Roza due?”
These people. They’ve been so welcoming. Evie even put on a frightfully posh afternoon tea for Baba and me last month.
“She’ll be here within the hour.” Along with three of the nursing staff. I hope she’s having one of her good days. She so wanted to be here, to see me in my pretty dress, she said. I have a bouquet of flowers waiting for her; she’ll eat a little and drink a small champagne (with permission of her doctor); and Fin has already secured her first dance.
She’ll be safe in his arms, I know.
Evie’s phone begins to ring, and she excuses herself, leaving me to my checklist and the stunningly dressed ballroom. In truth, I feel a bit strange as I traverse the tables laden with white linens, crystal, and china. I’m usually dressed to blend, not to stun. And this gown, boy, she is a stunner. Jade silk that moves like water across my body as I move. Shoestring straps, a low-cut back, and all the internal support I need for the girls.
I still opt for demure when I’m running an event, but my clothing choices have become a little more . . . daring outside of that. It’s hard to not to be comfortable in your own skin when someone else adores you. He doesn’t mind that I occasionally bite my nails or that I still say ridiculous stuff when I’m feeling under pressure. He treats me with love. And with grace. And that’s had an effect on the way I treat myself, I suppose.
God, I love him.
Now, where was I? Ah, yes.
Tables Too many to count. China, crystal, and flower arrangements all placed with such precision, thanks to Oliver’s hotel staff.
Dais and backdrop Looking like something from a high-end florist.
I move the pen down my list and find myself smiling as I notice my wedding ring. Fin wants to exchange it for something a little more opulent. Too bad I’m quite attached to what I have.
Back to my iPad and list.
Carpet aisle of rose petals Way over the top, but insisted on by Fin. But if he thinks I’m going to repeat that Dirty Dancing lift, he’s going to be sorely disappointed. The world almost seeing my knickers once was enough.
I move through the ballroom, just taking in the decoration and appreciating the heck out of my life when—“Hey!” A door opens, and I’m pulled in. “You . . . ,” I say, narrowing my eyes. And biting back my smile. My heart pounds, initially from shock but now thanks to the look in my husband’s eyes. He’s so bloody handsome in his evening suit, his hair a little longer now and sort of messy and dissolute.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he purrs. “Especially when you look so fucking edible.”
“You look pretty nice yourself.”
“Nice?”
“I knew you’d like that. Being called nice is so nice, right?”
He says nothing, but, oh, he looks. And I know that cocky glint. I’m about to relieve you of your panties, it says.
“Tell me the truth,” his low voice rumbles. “You guessed, didn’t you?”
“That you were planning on dragging me in here?” I smooth the silk over my thighs. I can’t let him muss me up before the start of the night. Can I?
Later in the night, however . . .