Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
If it were just me, I might call Haute out on his shit anyway.
But it’s Patton and Archer and Colt’s future at stake. It’s the entire future and income potential of Higher Ends, which is why I need to keep a lid on my shit.
Junie’s so good at this it almost makes me uncomfortable. In fact, it makes me cling to calm.
She does that.
My beautiful fiancée, who reassures me with soothing words by day and wandering lips and hands by night. Proof that pretend can be easier than I ever imagined.
Maybe because we’re not pretending anymore.
Not entirely.
The thought I’ve been avoiding completely fucks me up the second I acknowledge it, and I force my attention to the glossy wood of the bar. The vibrant shine tells me this place is well maintained.
There are many things I hate about him, but the glutton in front of me has a certain standard he imposes. I can still respect that.
What I can’t respect is the way he stares at my woman over his glass every time he sips, looking at her like she’s his next snack.
The women are talking about Clara’s visits to distant cities and conservatories across the world to see rare plants. Junie keeps up the same enthusiasm that must have her feeling like an old friend, considering how easily Clara laughs.
Haute looks oddly disengaged, averting his eyes from the death glares I’m giving him, sipping an old fashioned that smells more like simple syrup than bourbon.
“They’re getting on well,” I say sharply, leaning toward him and steepling my fingers. “We should’ve done this a while ago.”
He grunts. “Yeah. Clara’s been a fan of your lady’s baking since that box showed up.”
“Hell, who isn’t?” I ask, knowing full well I haven’t been able to tolerate food that has the power to turn your teeth into Swiss cheese. “Another drink?”
“Sure. Straight whiskey. I’ll drink to what a lucky son of a bitch you are.”
I can’t even fake a smile at that.
I’m too shocked he can drink alcohol without sugar.
I walk to the bar and order two top-shelf whiskeys and bring them back.
“I didn’t know your Clara was a baking enthusiast,” I say, taking a pull off my drink.
Haute shrugs and glances at his wife, who’s busy talking about a trip to the Amazon rainforest years ago. Junie listens intently with a smile.
Most folks as strapped with work as she is might be jealous, listening to this rich woman prattle on about exuberant places and people she’s experienced.
Not Junie.
She hangs on every word, a hopeful gleam in her eyes like she knows she might still make it there herself someday.
You could easily take her, you loaded fuck.
You could island hop Hawaii and Fiji with her for a month without breaking a sweat, feasting on fresh coconut and Haleakala sunrises and worry-free kisses in paradise.
I have to physically shake the thought from my head to evict it.
What the hell is wrong with me?
There’s no time for long vacations and lazy days in the sun. Once the arrangement ends, that’s out of the cards forever.
Daydreaming must be a nasty side effect of the best sex of my life with Juniper Winkley.
“Life passes by too quickly,” Haute mutters. “The things I’d do if I were your age again, Rory.”
There he goes again.
Laying his beady eyes on my girl like he’s man enough to eye fuck her.
He fucking isn’t.
I swear, if this heap of flattery over the bakery has been some weird ruse to invite Junie into a threesome or some shit, I’ll shoot the deal dead on the spot. Then I’ll be promptly dragged away in handcuffs for shooting Haute himself, too.
“No sense in living with regrets or wandering eyes. Take a cue from our women,” I growl, forcing this back to the point. “I think their energy bodes well for our future. The Mill has big plans coming together.”
Haute lifts his eyebrows and finally gives me his full attention.
Polite, but reserved.
“More plans since we last spoke? You must really want to impress me, Rory. You never take a day off, do you?”
I shrug, grateful he can’t see inside my head. He’d know the only thing I want to do is grab him by the throat and throttle him.
“We don’t slow down once we have a green light.” I toss back my whiskey. “We want to make your baby the pride of Kansas City, just like the old days when it was an active grain mill. We’re out to combine living history with luxury rental.”
“As long as your lofty plans include a little sugar,” Haute says with a wink.
Goddamn, I can never read him well.
Does he ever stop thinking about pastries and drooling over other women for five minutes? Even to talk money and logistics?
“You know I made it part of the deal,” I assure him, trying to keep the impatience from my voice. It’s like he’s hanging back deliberately, although that doesn’t make sense.