Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
“I’m sure it’s beautiful. You clearly have a way with plants.” I eye the flowers again.
“Oh, yes, that was Walt’s thing, and I suppose it had to rub off. I just love flowers, even when I had no hand in growing them. A few times, we even pitched supplying flower arrangements to the big casinos in Vegas, but alas, the distance just wasn’t workable to keep them fresh in those days.” She stuffs the bouquet into a large empty urn on the reception desk. “There. Don’t they make this place pop?”
“They do,” I agree, more enthusiastically than I feel.
At least we’re on safer ground now. Talking about her dead husband feels easier than whatever she suspects is going on between Patton and me, or the real estate deal I have no say in.
But why does she suspect anything at all?
Is the chemistry—oh my God, that stupid word—really so obvious to a family friend?
“I should get going,” she says, picking up the entire urn, probably to put some water in it. “And don’t worry, dearie, I’m on your side. We girls must stick together, especially when real estate moves like lightning. I’m sure a kind word or two will bring them around, right?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “And by the way, I think you’d make the sweetest couple!”
I watch her leave, speechless, as she shuffles away.
Wow. She’s a little more aggressive than I guessed.
The audacity, thinking I have any say whatsoever over whether the Minnesota deal happens or not.
I can’t decide if it’s worse than her thinking there’s anything cute about my awkward, self-destructive non-relationship with Patton Rory.
There’s zero chance it evolves into anything good.
Zero.
Before this day can inflict more weird surprises, though, I hurry from the building. The last thing I need is to bump into Patton again somehow.
Actually, though, that’s not quite right.
The last thing I need is a vacation with this man.
Save me now.
14
UP THE STAKES (PATTON)
It’s business.
It’s business, it’s business, it’s just goddamned business.
I’ve been repeating that mantra all day, ever since I picked her up outside her apartment early this morning.
It’s what I’ve kept telling myself the whole time at the airport, with her fussing about Arlo and everything else she’s reluctantly leaving behind for a few days.
And now, as she’s sleeping in the seat beside me as our charter jet hums along, I have to repeat it again.
Because every mile closer to Utah makes it feel like a bigger lie.
Let’s be real, these real estate ‘conferences’ are less about celebrating big ideas than they are glorified networking events. I’ve been to plenty in the past—alone.
No one ever questioned my solo appearances.
In fact, I fit right in with the sea of married or married-but-acting-single men. Once you know the jokes, the lingo, the backslapping, and the selfish, shitty attitudes from men who think they’re miniature gods, it’s easy to blend in.
Why, then, am I wanting to put on a show with Salem Hopper?
And why didn’t I just fucking tell her my real motive for inviting her, besides leaning on the flimsy mentorship excuse?
It’s not like I don’t want to see her armed for success.
I do.
I want her to blind the whole world with how much she shines in this field, even more after seeing the way she forced a barbed smile for that clown of a woman.
Kayla Persephone.
Fucking pill.
I’m sick that she’s the only reason Salem came to us, this done-up plastic doll who looks like she needs a day off her movie grade makeup and a brutal reality check.
Fuck me.
I hated seeing Salem, stranded and having to pretend she owes her life to this vapid woman. She shouldn’t have to answer to anyone. Not when she has all the qualities to thrive.
Maybe that’s when it turned personal for me.
This weekend of hobnobbing with the big fish in my world can’t hurt, and neither can a little pampering. Maybe some downtime will give her ego the boost it needs to internalize her real worth.
She mumbles and twists in her seat, her head slipping down the inflatable pillow to my shoulder.
I freeze.
Shit.
This must be karma, right on time to meet my dumb ass for creating this predicament.
I’ve walked into this setup like a certified imbecile.
Now, here we are.
And here she is, all warm breath and dreaming flutters against my neck, dead asleep and trusting and so killingly beautiful I can’t look away.
I’m marooned in my seat, watching her like a kid looking through a toy shop window.
Control yourself, man.
Can I, though?
Or is it already too late?
You knew this would happen.
I thought separate rooms at the resort would help, knowing there’d be no opportunity to touch her then.
Trouble is, when she looked online and saw how expensive this place is at four figures per night, she demanded to know if my suite had a second room.
It did.