Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“Yeah.” I grind salt and pepper into the mixture. “Oven’s already preheated.”
Henri finishes the task, mixing it all together and tossing it onto the pan. I place the pan in the oven, turning to find Henri studying me a little too closely.
“Special occasion?” Henri grabs another blueberry and pops it into her mouth. “You haven’t cooked once since we’ve been in New York.”
“My mother started a catering business when she retired.” I shrug, hoping she’ll drop it.
“What’s that got to do with the price of tea in China, Bishop?” Henri hops onto one of the leather bar stools at the counter, sharp eyes darting from my dark green shawl collar sweater to the black pants and boots I just shined. “Is someone coming over? Do you have a date?”
I knew I should have ordered in. That wouldn’t have raised Henri’s antennae. She’s a mini pit bull.
“A friend’s coming over for dinner.” I season the steaks I bought from the butcher up the street, not looking up under Henri’s scrutiny.
“This friend wouldn’t happen to be Sofie Baston, would it?”
My hand stops mid-shake, poised over the raw meat, and I finally look back at Henri.
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, Harold said—”
“We should really get going, Henri, don’t you think?” Harold cuts in from the kitchen archway.
“Oh, no. Don’t rush off.” I fold my arms over my chest and cock my head, enjoying Harold’s discomfort. “Hen was just telling me that you said, what exactly, Henrietta?”
Henri’s wide eyes flick between her two bosses.
“Well, just that…” Henri bites her bottom lip. “Just that you…”
“That I…” I raise my eyebrows, waiting for her to finish the sentence. “What?”
“That you kind of have a thing for Sofie Baston,” Henrietta says defiantly. “That you like her.”
“Is that a fact, Harold?” I glance at my friend, enjoying seeing him squirm even as I’m irritated by his flapping gums.
“I just said that you, well, that I had never seen you like this about a girl before.”
“This?” I ask. “Like what?”
“Chasing her all over the city and—”
“I did not chase.”
Harold tilts his head, giving me a knowing look.
“Okay, maybe there was a little chasing.” I chuckle just as much at myself as at the face Harold makes.
“I just never pegged you as one of those guys, Trevor.” Henri presses her lips together, something dangerously close to disapproval on her face. “I mean, a supermodel?”
It raises my defenses immediately, as much on my behalf as on Sofie’s.
“You don’t even know her, Hen.”
“Neither do you, Trevor,” Henrietta shoots back.
“You’re right.” I turn to open the oven, checking the artichoke hearts. “Thus dinner.”
“I guess she does have a certain appeal.” Henri looks like she can’t for the life of her understand what it might be.
Harold and I exchange a quick look. A “certain appeal” doesn’t begin to describe what Sofie has, and a red-blooded male in a coma would recognize it. Harold wisely just clears his throat and places a hand at Henrietta’s back.
“Ready?” he asks. “Our reservation is for seven thirty, and I think I heard the car outside.”
“We’re not grabbing a cab?” She smiles sweetly.
“No, I ordered a car for us.”
They grin at each other for a few seconds before heading toward the door.
“Don’t wait up,” Harold yells back to me from the stoop of my sister’s brownstone.
“Hadn’t planned on it.”
I can’t help but smile while I continue the preparations once they’re gone. I know it’s only their first date, but I hope it will turn into more. First, things could get really awkward with Henri being our assistant if things don’t go well. Second, Harold deserves some happiness. He’s sacrificed a lot over the years. We both have, and I’d love to see him enjoy himself a little.
Hell, I’m ready to enjoy myself, too.
I pull a basket of blackberries from the fridge, only to realize I’m missing something very important. I retrieve my cell phone from my pocket, pressing the number I was supposed to call two days ago. I brace for an earful.
“Trevor!” my mother says from the other end. “I’m so glad you called. I’ve been worried.”
“I know. Sorry. Things have been hectic here in New York.”
“So you are back?” Her tone chides a little. “I thought you’d call when you got back from Cambodia.”
“Mama, don’t start.” I press the phone between my shoulder and my ear, walking the steaks out to the grill on the patio.
“How are things going with Bennett? You think they’re the right fit?”
Mama’s not who you would expect to be on top of foreign policy and business, but she could probably hold her own in half of my meetings. She’s the main reason I’m in those meetings at all. She has been tracking with every step Harold and I have taken with this Deutimus transition.
“Walsh Bennett’s all right.” I place the steaks over the flaming grill. “We’re not ready to make a decision either way.”