Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“Was it really?”
I nod, nerves making my mouth hurry on. “How are you, Whit?” My gaze skims over his magnificence. “Are you good?”
Hell yes, you’re good.
“I’m well. And yourself, Amelia? Are you well?”
Beats being called little fly, I guess. Maybe? “I am good. Thank you for asking.” For the record, should you require it, I can also be very bad. At least, I think I can be. “You look good,” I tag on. Good as in super-hot. He’s obviously older than I remember, but the years look good on him. His hair has a little salt mixed in with the dark pepper. He’s larger in the shoulders, but just as lean, his flat stomach denoted by a trim leather belt. He looks like a grown-up. Dark and capable. The kind of man who—
“You look good, too.” His eyes flit over me, leaving a buttery warmth in their wake.
Well, I am wearing my favorite shirt. I’m no longer the gangly teen who’d turn beet red at his teasing. I’ve grown up, but I think we’ve already established that.
Whit seemed to be a fixture of my childhood home, and I idolized him. I still remember the first time he visited. I couldn’t understand why my tummy would flutter when he was near. It was years before I could label the feelings. Each vacation he spent with us, it became more and more clear, but that was before Connor died and the fun was sucked out of my world. Whit had already been living in London for years when Connor passed, but he didn’t drop out of our lives like a lot of his friends. Like loss is somehow catching. He’d call regularly, just to check in, and send silly postcards from his vacations, and the occasional email. He’d even send me emails sometimes. And always a birthday card each year, usually containing a department store gift certificate.
“It helps that my braces came off.”
Ouch. Maybe I haven’t moved on much from that awkward girl.
Whit stifles a smile as he lifts his hand to his mouth. Those fingers, my mind echoes with an internal sigh. This man and his hands have kept me awake many a night, and not just since his digital mastery. I don’t know if it’s his Italian ancestry, but he always seemed to use his hands a lot. It’s very sexy. Even more so now. His fingers are long, elegant, and tan. I especially like it when he uses them on his jaw and chin, just like now.
“I can believe it.” He gives his head a slight shake. “I hardly recognized you.”
“Oh, I know,” I reply. “I mean, I guessed as much.” After last time.
His index finger kind of tugs at his smile, but as someone clears their throat behind him, he turns. I notice El, his brother, sitting in the seat on the opposite side of the desk. Polly, their mom, introduced us this morning when I was getting my ID pass. A second man sits in the adjacent seat, who I guess to be another of the Whittington brood.
“Hi, El.” I hazard a little wave, and he scrambles from his seat.
“Hey, Mimi.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” asks the third occupant of the room.
“No,” El says with a laugh. “Not a chance.”
“Don’t let us stop your important meeting.” Jody holds out her hand as though to stop their progress. She waddles back to where I’m standing just inside the door. The woman looks fit to drop. Drop into a chair… drop a baby or three. Any of those. “We still have the marketing and compliance departments to visit.”
“Compliance? Whit frowns, and as Jody passes him by, she gives an exaggerated roll of her eyes.
“Is there an echo in here?”
“Jodes—”
For someone clearly thirteen months pregnant, Jody swings abruptly on her heel.
“What have I told you about calling me that?” she snaps. Whit’s brows retract and he holds up his hands, kind of, don’t shoot! She shuffles around to half face me, her expression a mixture of tiredness, frustration, and regret. “My ex called me that, and it properly gets my back up.”
I make a mental note of the vernacular—to get one’s back up means to get annoyed. Okay. I nod in solidarity, my hands still clasped at my front like the goody two shoes I used to be.
“Don’t take any shit from him while I’m gone. But don’t think you can dish it out, either. He’s got a wicked temper. You’ve got to know how to handle the monster.”
The younger-looking brother snickers.
Jody’s gaze narrows before cutting his way, her tone withering. “Why don’t you have a rest? Take the day off from stupid.”
“I just didn’t realize you were familiar with the monster,” he says with a cheeky grin.
“Are you going to tell him, or do I have to get the handbook again?” Her attention shifts to Whit. My stomach flips because I realize he’s still looking at me.