Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
I step away from my boss, getting some necessary distance. I write a quick message to Zane and hit send. Can I see you tonight at your hotel? I’d love to grab a drink and talk. I can be there in thirty minutes.
Annoyed I can’t take off now, I drop my phone in my back pocket. A few more guests move toward the door, and like we’re giving our regards at a wedding, Vance and I say goodbye to each one. Soon, most of the guests are gone, but Adriana entertains a hardy crew in a spirited game of bocce ball—a pitcher with the Barn Owls, a left fielder from the New York Minotaurs, and the catcher from the San Diego Devils, Trace Woodson. He’s not a client, but the other guys are so he’s here as a friend.
Vance watches their game with approval in his eyes. “She’s so good at…everything. And so are you, so there’s no need for me.” Vance claps me on the back. “I’m going to sneak out early. The wife and kids are in town to see the game. But I’m taking everyone to Universal tomorrow, so they’ll be up at the crack of dawn. Can you two close this place down for me?”
“Of course,” I say, ready to kick him out the door. Don’t want him watching me too closely if Zane comes in.
The second he’s gone, I reach for my phone again. There’s no reply. But I’m not going down without a fight. Walking away from the patio and toward the interior of the restaurant, I open the text and tap out another message.
One that’s crystal clear.
I miss you so much.
I feel lighter just typing that.
Once I hit send, the door swings open. In walks a man who makes my pulse soar sky-high.
I shudder everywhere.
I should join Adriana and the clients.
But I don’t.
I’m caught up in the latecomer as I make my way past the empty tables with purposeful steps, mesmerized by his intense green eyes, enchanted by his irresistible charisma.
When Zane spots me, his jaw twitches, but then he schools his expression, barely smiling. Then, not smiling at all.
I’ll have my work cut out for me.
And I am here for it.
I still don’t know what my big plan is. I still don’t know what’s next. But my bones are humming, and my body is vibrating, and I feel something.
I feel passion.
So much of it is filling me.
I march right up to him, extend a hand, and clasp his. “I’m so glad you could make it,” I say, and I don’t put on my agent voice. I speak low, husky, just for him.
Zane blinks, as if he’s taken aback by my tone. But he pumps my hand. “Yeah, me too.”
Before I can say come home with me, a voice calls out across the mostly empty eatery. “Madman!”
It’s the Barn Owls pitcher.
Then a feminine voice. “Double or nothing.”
Don’t care. I need Zane. I wave them off with a, “We’re gonna pass—”
But the Devils catcher is louder. “Archer! Get your ass out here.”
Zane sighs audibly, but straps on a smile. “I should…”
We head to the bocce ball court on the patio, and Adriana brings Zane in for a hug. He wraps his strong arms around her and gives her a genuine smile. “So good to see you,” he says.
Lucky Adriana. I want those arms around me.
She plunks a ball in Zane’s hand. “Let’s do it. You’re on my team for this round.”
Trace claims me as his teammate, and we play a quick game. The whole time I steal glances at Zane, but his blinders are on, and he helps Adriana win, then lifts his arms in victory. “Boom. Get ready for me to take home the MVP award tomorrow,” he says, trash talking the other guys.
The easy way he jokes around tugs at my heart but eats away at me too. Maybe he doesn’t care anymore. Maybe he’s over me.
But I won’t know till I ask him.
When the players and Adriana confer on whether they can go one more round, all my patience drains. I close the distance between Zane and me. “The bar’s open for thirty more minutes. Can you grab a drink with me?” I lower my voice, so only he can hear. “Just me.”
That should make my meaning clear.
“Sure. That’d work,” he says, but he sounds wary. Fair enough. I have to earn any chance of trust with him.
We head to the bar, leaving behind the others. “Did you get my texts?”
“No. I was listening to a podcast on the ride over,” he says.
“That’s so you,” I say with a smile. “But that’s good. This is something I should say in person.”
He doesn’t return the smile.
When we reach the bar, the bartender signals that he’ll be with us in a minute. I’m about to snag a stool when I catch a glimpse of the bocce ball stalwarts wrapping up.