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)
Actually, that’s a lie.
It’s a lie because I love old stuff and also because I have a weird crush on the governor of New York. So taking a tour of his house feels like it’d be crossing a line into stalker town.
I might do it anyway. But you have to schedule a tour and I’m very busy being broke and working on my business so I haven’t gotten around to it yet.
And yeah, yeah, I know governors aren’t generally crush-worthy, but they’re usually old white men. Governor Russo is young. Youngish, anyway. And Italian. And hot. And I have a thing for him. Sue me.
You can’t help who you love.
You also can’t help who you want to make out with long enough to find out if the big dick energy he exudes is warranted, am I right?
Anyway.
Where the heck is Mrs Bianchi? A glance at my phone tells me it’s one minute past two, so where—
“Audrey!”
Mrs Bianchi is standing directly in front of me, a huge smile on her face. Okay, weird. Where did she even come from? I swear I’m losing it or she’s some kind of shapeshifter. I hope it’s the latter, but before I can devote too much time to figuring it out she’s wrapped an arm around my back like we’re old friends and is guiding me through the gates.
Wait.
“Are we going on the tour?” God, this lady is weird. The thing is, I really like her and my intuition tells me she’s good people. But my intuition has been known to be a raging idiot so I can’t be faulted for questioning it. Myself. Whatever.
“Hmm?” She tilts her head, a look of confusion crossing her face.
“Why are we going inside? Does your son work here?” I glance at the tour guide, but he’s older than Mrs Bianchi so I don’t think that’s her son. Also… he’s already twenty feet away leading the tour group in the opposite direction. I slow my steps to a near halt, forcing her to slow as well. “Shouldn’t we stay with the group?”
Okay, now I’m a little nervous. I take a quick visual of the area, wondering why security hasn’t already corralled us with some stern looks and walkie-talkies. I was prepared to be kidnapped this afternoon. I was not prepared to be arrested for breaking and entering the governor’s mansion. And… now the group is gone. I can’t even see them anymore. We have officially gone rogue.
And I absolutely cannot afford to get arrested. It’s really, really expensive.
“Oh.” She pauses. “Did we not cover that?”
“Cover what?” I peer over her shoulder while simultaneously trying to get her to turn around. Maybe we can catch up with the others. They can’t have gone that far.
And yet we’re now at a side door on the huge wrap-around front porch and she’s reaching for the door handle.
“Mrs Bianchi,” I nearly gasp, “we can’t go in this way.”
“Of course we can, this door is always unlocked,” she replies like it’s no big deal and gives the door a push. “Now, remember when you said how difficult online dating can be?”
“Right.” I don’t get a chance to elaborate on that before she takes the garment bag from me and drapes it over an armchair like she owns the place, which is ridiculous because technically the house belongs to the state of New York and—
Oh.
Oh, no.
“Well, it’s complicated for Warren too, obviously,” she continues without missing a step as she starts down a hallway while I stand frozen in some side door entryway inside the governor’s mansion. “And you’re perfect. Exactly what he needs! I have a good feeling about the two of you and my good feelings are always spot on.”
Warren Russo. Governor of the State of New York. Is getting set up by his mother.
With… me?
“Audrey? Are you coming?” Mrs Bianchi pauses when she notices I’m not following. “We only have a few minutes before he’s leaving town for a meeting with the mayor. I wanted to squeeze you in today so you could meet before the wedding this weekend.”
“You’re the governor’s mother?” I whisper the question. I’m not sure why exactly, it just seems like whispering is the appropriate voice level right now.
And okay, yeah, she mentioned something about a wedding as I was shoving her out my front door. I remember thinking it sounded like the most boring date in history, but it also sounded like a free dinner in a public setting so I chalked it up as a win.
“Did I forget to mention that?” She frowns, head tilted a fraction to the side, and I don’t know her well but I’m already certain that the expression she’s wearing is the one she wears to feign innocence when she is anything but.
“Pretty sure you forgot to mention that, yes,” I respond, still in a whisper but with a bite of sarcasm.