Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“Mother is back in town on Friday and asked if you’d like to meet for dinner.”
“Sheera?” I gaped. Did that mean she was going to hire Social Queens? Excitement thrummed through me. “Of course. I’d love to.”
“Great. I’ll text you the details.” If I thought it was a wee bit odd that he’d text the details and not Tellie, I shrugged it off. All that mattered was getting a second meeting with Sheera. Not so much that I wanted to stick around in awkward conversation with Samuel any longer, however.
“Wonderful. Well, I have a meeting in half an hour, so I really need to go. But I hope my recommendations prove useful.” I reached for my purse to pay and Samuel covered my hand.
“There is no way I’d ever let a lady pay for lunch, let alone one who did me a favor.”
“Oh, well, thank you.”
He squeezed my hand before releasing it. “It was my pleasure.”
Again, I ignored the interested heat in his gaze and stood. Seriously, how was he not feeling the utter lack of connection? “Good luck with your job.”
“Good luck with yours.” He stood, grinning. “I’ll see you soon.”
My smile faltered a bit, but I recovered. “Goodbye.”
As I walked out of the bar, I couldn’t help but think the whole interaction was a bit weird.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BETH
Icould barely take in the conversation at Mum and Dad’s that Sunday, never mind the food. Last night I’d gone out on another date. Neil. He was a veterinarian. It had been like pulling teeth to get conversation out of him and then he asked me as we walked out of the restaurant if I fancied giving him a blow job.
I’d laughed in discomfort, thinking he was being inappropriately funny.
He was completely serious.
To which I replied that I did not fancy giving him a blow job. That I would in fact rather choke on a banana covered in fire ants than give him a blow job.
He’d shrugged and said, “No worries, see you around.” And then walked away.
I was really beginning to despair that my perfect match even existed. Also, going on these dates was eating into my work time. Was it even worth it at this point to try to juggle a personal life if these were the nonstarters I kept finding myself on dates with?
As soon as it was polite to, I excused myself from Sunday dinner, citing work, which wasn’t untrue. I hugged my family goodbye and was out the front door when I heard Dad call my name. Stopping on the front stoop, I turned to face him as he approached.
A frown marred his brow and he asked without preamble, “What’s going on?”
Guilt suffused me for being so distant. “Just work, you know.”
“Not buying it.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Dad had always been the harder of my parents to deceive. It wasn’t because my mum wasn’t hands-on and interested. Both my parents were overly involved and overly protective. Which I’d take over the opposite in a heartbeat. However, Dad was the perceptive one. Mum had said that his ability to see right through people had only failed him very few times, and it was the reason he was so successful in business. She’d hinted it was even the reason he’d won her over. I wasn’t sure in what way she meant. Dad might joke about working hard to make Mum fall in love with him, but I couldn’t imagine that.
However, as much as I adored my dad, I could really do without his perceptiveness tonight. “I’ve been thinking about Amanda a lot lately.”
His expression softened in sympathy. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
I shrugged unhappily. “What can you do? Other than throw yourself into work.”
“Or spend more time with your family.”
“Dad, work is seriously kicking my arse. You know what that’s like.” Even at uni, when I’d done my best to hide my anxiety from my parents, Dad always seemed to sense it. At the height of my stressy moments, I’d find myself whisked off at Dad’s arrangement for a weekend break to the beach or a European city where I could do nothing but be with my family. It usually always worked to calm me down a bit. I’d led a privileged life, in more ways than one.
“Beth—”
“Dad, I love you, but I’m tired.” I reached up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “See you later.”
As I was walking down the steps, he called out to me, “You’re more stubborn than your mother.”
I grinned over my shoulder. “She says I’m more stubborn than you.”
Dad didn’t smile. “I’m here if you need me, kid.”
I stopped, filled with utter love. “I’ll always need you, Dad.”
Tenderness gleamed in his eyes. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
“Text me when you get home.”
I smiled at the command and walked away. The momentary reprieve from my worries dissipated, however, as I found myself going over and over everything I needed to do this week. I was barely aware of walking down the sloping hill of Dublin Street. Of hitting the cobbled street of Drummond Place and passing the small park in the middle of it.