Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
I get my first clue that my plan is working when Warren knocks on my bedroom door. When I open it, he most definitely eyes me from head to toe and then his lips twitch, which, while not exactly a guarantee of “I want to fuck you,” is as close to verbal confirmation as Warren Russo seems to get.
“You look nice,” he says, in a very casual and somewhat reluctant tone, making me doubt my assessment a bit.
Still, I know this dress is hot. He might be able to play it cool, but that’s just the politician in him. I turn a little, pretending to look for something while really showing off my ass.
“Thank you,” I reply and then I look over at the delicious suit he’s wearing. “So do you.”
“The tie is vintage,” he says, running it through his fingers. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”
My heart swells, because….
He totally wants to make out, am I right?
Like, could he be flirting any harder right now? This is full-on seduction, clearly. Is there any better way to hit on a girl who loves vintage? Nope. There is not.
“What era?” I ask, trying to keep my voice normal. Normal, versus purring the words like I want to. I’m still in the ‘be charming’ phase of my plan and I have a lot of charm to show off. Also, I know there’s no way Warren is going to skip this dinner. “Who’s the designer?”
“It’s from Gimbels,” he says, referring to a long-since-closed department store chain. “They’ve been closed for thirty years, so it must qualify as vintage, right?” he adds, dropping the tie from his fingertips.
Well, no. Not actually. Not even close. It qualifies as old, at best. Still, it’s the thought that counts.
“It was my dad’s,” he adds, and now I’m even more confused.
Would he wear his late father’s tie to seduce me? Hmm. Maybe? I stare at him, trying to decipher his impossible-to-dissect facial expressions. Then I find myself staring at his lips, remembering the way they felt on mine, and then I forget what I’m supposed to be evaluating right now.
“We should go,” he finally says, nodding towards the stairwell and breaking me out of my trance.
He offers his arm, and I take it, and yes, maybe I’m a little on the crazy side but I feel a connection between us. Like an intangible pull, a bolt of energy, an invisible line that surely exists. I lean in to him as he assists me down the stairs and through the mansion, right out to the car that’s waiting to take us to the event.
Once we’re there, it’s nonstop—a sea of people that I don’t know and for the most part, don’t recognize. I see Old Man Lowell, and he gives me a friendly wave. I make small talk with too many people to count, doing my best to charm them as I go. One woman’s all about telling me about her boat. Summers on the cape. Crowds at the marina. Yada yada. I do an Academy Award-winning job of pretending any of it is relatable. Another guy is overly enthused about the governor’s plan for “environmental innovation,” and while I have no idea what that is, enthusiasm for the governor is something I do find relatable so there’s no faking necessary on my part.
Basically, I’m a clutch schmoozer. I think? I’m trying to work sports analogies into my everyday banter, but being a clutch player could be a good thing or a bad thing. I sure as hell don’t know.
Anyway. Part two of the plan is going well, is the point.
Warren’s brother James is here too, and we’re seated with him at dinner. James and his date. A new one. Maybe Mrs Bianchi wasn’t so far off when she said he was a player. His date’s pretty, with the kind of thick shiny brown hair you see in shampoo commercials and a dress that is most definitely new. And expensive. And small. Not that I’m judging—at all. Maybe a little. I covet the level of confidence it takes to pull off wearing something that slinky and shiny, that’s all. Plus, the belting detail is insane. I want to ask her who made it, but she hasn’t given me a second glance since we were introduced.
“Crystal’s a model,” James says, catching my eye. “She’s only done catalog work so far, but I think she’s going to be big.”
Crystal bats her eyes at him, giving him a squeeze. “I’m going to get another drink,” she says, setting down her empty glass. “I’ll be back.”
She sashays away, and I’m left between two Russo brothers. It’s not a bad place to be, or it wouldn’t be if they didn’t choose that moment to start bickering.
“Why even do this if Mom’s not here to see it and be annoyed?” Warren asks, his gaze flicking in the direction Crystal went before returning to James.