Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
He turns to me and smirks, looking more like himself.
“Have I told you that you’re a smart-ass?”
I smirk, but don’t say anything, turning to the front and enjoying the ride.
We’re on the road for twenty minutes before his phone pings.
“Will you check that to see who it is?” he asks.
I’m surprised by his request, but I pick it up to find he doesn’t even bother with a password.
“Really?” I ask, lifting it into the air. “Do you know how dangerous this is? If you lost this, someone would practically have access to your entire life.”
He lifts one brow, looking at me out of the corner of his eyes, one side of his lips tipped up.
“I don’t leave that lying around anywhere.”
I half roll my eyes. “Doesn’t matter. You need to lock this down. As your executive assistant, I demand it.”
He sighs. “Now you’re my executive assistant?”
“I prefer it to assistant. That’s below me,” I joke, but he doesn’t laugh.
Back is the mercurial Aiden, complete with a scowl and a tight grip on the wheel.
What’s his deal?
“If I’d have known how bossy you were gonna be, I would’ve chosen someone else.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” I respond. His comment stings, but I won’t let him know I’m hurt. He might be in a mood, but it doesn’t mean he has to act cranky with me.
“What?” He turns his head toward me quickly before turning back to the road.
I shake my head and plaster on the fakest smile I can muster. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything. I’m just hungry.”
Aiden nods, and one mile up the road, he pulls off the highway, heading toward a row of food options.
I don’t call him out on his attitude because, with my luck, he’d turn it around to teach me some sort of lesson. He’s very back-and-forth today, and I have to wonder if he’s on edge about taking me to his home. I can’t be the only one feeling a bit nervous about this step.
Fake relationship or not, his private space has never been shared. Ever.
“Can’t have you starving. It’s not good for anyone to go without food.”
My chest is heavy with the weight of his words, and my stomach dives. Knowing our pasts, what he’s just said is from experience. I know how much he means every word he’s just spoken.
This short trip has already pulled on my heartstrings, which just has me questioning this whole thing more and more.
Too late now, Cass.
The Jeep takes a left into a little café. “This is one of my favorites. They have great sandwiches.” He pulls into a spot and shuts off the car. “We can discuss the specifics of what your new position will include. Some of the stuff…” He pauses, and I know this is hard for him. He’s not used to telling anyone.
Even in the past, he never told me. I just paid attention. The one thing I wished someone would do for me. My dad didn’t care about anything that wasn’t leading to him being three sheets to the wind. I didn’t want to be like that, so I made a concerted effort to notice the little things. Especially with Aiden.
My stomach growls, and he shakes his head. “We can discuss it later. It’s not important right now. You need food.”
“That works for me.”
We both get out of the car and head toward the restaurant. The café looks like a little cottage you’d find in the woods. Gray stone with ivy scaling up the sides. A cobblestone walkway leads to the red front door. When we step through, a chime rings, alerting everyone to our presence.
We don’t bother waiting for a hostess to tell us where we should sit. Instead, Aiden walks right in like he owns the place, heading toward a table in the back. One that is hidden and obscured from the door. The few people in the place don’t pay us any attention.
It’s clear he’s been here many times, and something tells me this is his spot, seeing as no one working here seems to find it weird that he’s done this. Instead, an older woman lifts a hand and waves, all while smiling.
Once we’re seated at the small, intimate table in the back, away from the other patrons, a man who has to be in his seventies shuffles toward the booth, two waters in hand.
“Mr. Slate. It’s so nice to see you.”
“Paul, I’ve told you to call me Aiden,” he says, smiling up at the man, who waves him off.
“Different generation, son.” He turns toward me. “And who do we have here? A guest. This is new.”
I have so many questions about that. It’s no secret that Aiden doesn’t date, but surely, if he’s been here often, he’s come with someone.
“This is Cassidy. Cassidy, Paul owns Magnolia Café with his wife, Dorothy.”