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)
“Just that the state offices are closed but that they’ll try to find out who Oliver dealt with. The thing is, I don’t want to call him and ask.”
“Oh, no. You definitely can’t call him,” I say, my words falling quickly. Oliver Deubel seems like the kind of man with very exacting standards (and possibly a vengeful streak), and I desperately need my payday. “You shouldn’t text. Or email. In fact, you shouldn’t bother him at all—it is his honeymoon.”
A faint smile curves on Fin’s lips, and my body seems to intuit exactly what he’s thinking. Heat kindles in the pit of my stomach. We’re both thinking of our own short but seemingly thorough honeymoon.
Did I really call him daddy? Fin teases so much it’s hard to tell. I mean, it’s entirely possible. I do seem to have developed a thing for being slightly dominated recently. Not in real life, just in my . . . special alone time imaginings. With Fin.
Earlier, when he whispered daddy in my ear, heat pulsed through my body. So much so that, when I pulled away from the arm he’d hauled around my waist, I half expected to find my skin seared to his.
“Also,” I say, returning to the topic of not contacting the Deubels. “What if they can listen in?” I glance in the direction of the huge wall of window and the bay beyond. “That’s a thing, isn’t it? Phone tapping?”
“An illegal thing.”
“What about seeing in?” My gaze swings back. Do we have to sit together? Cuddle up? There’s no way I’m going to voice any of that.
“It’s privacy glass. You can see out, but you can’t see in. The garden is private too. I guess there’s just the pool area we’d need to be careful about.”
“Right.” I give a nod. “That’s good.” And mildly disappointing. I was looking forward to swimming. “It must be an awful way to live.”
“It has been pretty hard for them.”
“I can’t imagine having my private life splashed across the internet.”
I dread to think what the headlines would read for my own wedding fiasco.
Delusional Wedding Planner Preps for Big Day While Groom Puts on His Running Shoes
At least Evie got to leave her cheating fiancé. Mine left me. And she did it in style. And while the press may have made her life hell, women everywhere rallied to her defense. I loved reading their supporting comments and laughed so hard at the article that told of her idiot ex suffering a modern-day pillory experience when he was bombarded with rotten fruit in Brick Lane Market.
I would’ve liked a little support, some female solidarity when times were tough. I give myself an internal shake, moving my mind forcibly back to the present.
“Evie bears the brunt of it.” Fin stretches his neck, tilting his head left, then right. Not that I’m watching closely or anything. “Oliver has much thicker skin.”
I still feel a little dirty that I watched that awful Pulse Tok video. “If this got out, things would be much worse for her, don’t you think?”
“Don’t worry. My legal team are on it.”
As he lifts his hand to rub the back of his head, my eyes follow the taut line of his bicep. My insides clench, overcome by a wave of sensation as I seem to remember how soft his hair feels. And ticklish. So many taunting fragments of memory. I wish I could remember the whole of it, because then I could move beyond it. Maybe?
“Time zones notwithstanding,” I murmur, dragging my gaze away.
“Someone will be hauling their ass out of bed and getting into the office to make that call at the appropriate time.”
I send my silent commiserations to whoever is making that call. I remember the pain of Zoom calls at odd hours as I liaised with the resort’s event staff during the planning of Evie and Oliver’s wedding. Or Mr. and Mrs. X, as they were referred to: a high-profile but otherwise unnamed couple. But Sarai seemed to know who they were when I arrived. Then again, she is the GM’s daughter. Also, she’s not exactly risk averse.
“And we’ll take it from there.” He stretches out his long legs, propping his heels on the ottoman.
I cross my fingers and send a silent plea to the heavens that I don’t end up with my own headline.
Wedding Planner Hits the Husband Jackpot
My stomach lurches. It might be bad for Evie if the news of this fiasco gets out, but it would be ruinous for me. What bride would want me near her wedding after learning I bagged Fin, one of London’s most eligible bachelors, by getting high and super slutty? A one-percenter was how Sarai described him. People will automatically assume I married Fin for his money, when in fact, I married him for Oliver’s money.
I fold in my pretty gel nails against the instinct to gnaw them. No one will ever take me or Trousseau seriously if even a hint of this is whispered about.