Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“A month, Coral,” I say sternly, lifting a foot in turn so Zoe can yank my jeans off. I look down where she’s kneeling before me, my jeans in her hands. I hang up on Coral. “All right down there?”
She flips her eyes up, coming face to face with my groin. She’s unmoving again.
“You know, Zoe, if you can’t learn to control yourself around me, I might need to find myself another personal shopper. This is getting awkward.” I give her a cheeky grin, and she shakes her head to herself, rising and claiming a shirt she’s selected to go with one of the suits. It’s pale blue. I nod agreeably and let her help me into it. She even fastens the buttons for me.
“So, tell me again what the occasion is.” She passes me the trousers.
“It’s the launch evening of the complex I just bought in.” I get the trousers on and turn to face the mirror while Zoe holds the jacket behind me. I slip my arms through and pull it in, rolling my shoulders.
“A new suit for a party?” she questions on a raised brow, and I raise mine right back. “Last I heard, Jesse Ward didn’t do mundane launch parties at apartment complexes.” She’s read between the lines. The fresh face. The new suit. Grabbing a tie, she lays it down my front. Her head cocks one way. Then the other. “No tie,” she declares, her eyes falling to mine in the mirror.
I hold them, smiling, as I pull the cuffs of the shirt down. “If you say so, Zoe.” I turn to face her.
“I’ll just double-check the inseam.” Her eyebrows lift as she lowers down my body. “Hmmm, could do with letting out a little.”
“Sort it and have it delivered to The Manor?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, Zoe.” I drop a friendly kiss on her cheek when she stands, so grateful she makes shopping as pain-free as possible, and I’m soon back in my own clothes, this time without Zoe’s help. I flip the collar of my Ralph polo up and slip my shades on.
It’s time to plan my seduction.
* * *
I pull up behind John’s Range Rover, looking up at my rearview mirror when I hear the familiar sound of a Porsche. I pull my smile from nowhere and get out. “Sam,” I say, making my way up the steps to The Manor. “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”
He soon catches up, flanking me. “Thought I’d grab some lunch”—he casts a wicked grin across to me—“before I grab something else.”
I laugh, looking over my shoulder when I hear another car rumbling down the gravel driveway. “What’s he doing here at this time of day again?”
Drew swings into a space and gets out, pulling his suit into place as he heads toward us. His face is poker straight, his eyes focused past us rather than on our static forms by the door. “I’m stressed,” he mutters as he passes, heading straight for the bar.
Sam and I give each other curious looks, following. Mario, my trusty Italian barman, has a beer on the bar before Drew can order one. “Put it on my tab,” I say, settling beside him, as Sam takes a seat on the other side. Drew stares forward, knocking his bottle back.
“What’s up?” Sam eventually asks the question burning my lips, but if there’s one thing I know about Drew, it’s that he doesn’t do chitchat.
“The longest chain in the history of real estate just collapsed, taking my commission with it.” He slams the bottle down, shrugs his jacket off, and casts his eyes over to me. “And that prick of an estate agent who you bought Lusso from swooped in and took the contract for the new development on Blackfriars.” He scowls to himself, and I shrink on my stool, thinking it’s probably best I don’t mention that that prick of an estate agent is now a member of my fine establishment. Drew will find out soon enough.
“So my man needs to let off some steam,” Sam chirps, giving Drew a smack on the back, just as he lifts his bottle to his mouth, making his teeth clash with the glass. Drew stills, his jaw tight, and Sam wisely moves back, away from the possible swing of Drew’s fist. Me? I do a terrible job of suppressing my laughter. “Sorry,” Sam mutters, throwing me a wary look. “But you know what the answer to all this is, don’t you?” he goes on, and I shake my head. He needs to shut the fuck up, or that possible swing of Drew’s fist will become a certain swing. “Quit.”
“What?” Drew spits.
“Don’t work,” Sam clarifies, nodding to Mario in thanks when he’s passed a beer. “Live the stress-free life like me.”
“We don’t all have dead parents who left us millions,” Drew retorts, and I flinch on Sam’s behalf, although Sam simply smiles that cheeky smile. I know he has his demons. Drew, however, is plain filthy, no demons so to speak. But while Drew is self-made, Sam was left his millions when he lost his parents in a tragic car accident at nineteen. He and Drew go way back, and Drew has been a member here for over twelve years. He introduced Sam to the lifestyle, brought him here, to escape I suppose—I can relate—and we’ve been mates ever since. We just connected, despite them both being a few years younger than I am. I love Drew’s straight-talking. He doesn’t say much, doesn’t talk for the sake of it, so anything he does say carries a certain weight. As for Sam, I suppose we clicked because of our histories, since I also lost . . .