Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I all but ordered her to join me, going so far as to use my size to intimidate her into complying.
Why did Victoria send her to me—if she did, that is? Now that all the blood isn’t rushing to my groin, the redhead’s behavior strikes me as extremely odd. Her accusations and ramblings about cats make zero sense… unless there’s been some kind of misunderstanding.
Shit.
I slide out of the booth to follow the woman, but before I can take two steps, a tall, elegant brunette steps into my path. “Hi, Marcus,” she says with a cool, graceful smile. “I’m Emmeline Sommers. Sorry I’m late.”
Even before she says her name, I know who she is—and I know I fucked up big.
This is the woman Victoria was talking about, the one whose file I didn’t have a chance to download before getting called into an emergency meeting with my portfolio managers. Victoria sent Emmeline’s pictures and bio to me this afternoon, and between the meeting and taking the subway to avoid rush-hour traffic, I showed up at the café completely unprepared—something I’d normally never do. I figured it wasn’t a big deal—I’d just confess my unpreparedness to Emmeline, and we’d have a good time getting to know one another—but I didn’t count on a similarly named woman who, by some bizarre coincidence, must’ve also come to the café on a blind date with a guy who shares my name. What were the fucking odds of that?
Staring at the brunette in front of me, I can’t believe I mistook Emma for her. No two women could be more different. Emmeline is Princess Diana, Jackie Kennedy, and Gisele all rolled up into one stunning package. I can easily picture her at the social functions and political events that are increasingly a part of my life. She’d know which fork to use and how to make small talk with senators and waiters alike, while Emma… Well, I can see her bouncing on my dick, and that’s about it.
Pushing the pornographic images out of my mind, I smile at the tall brunette. “No problem,” I say, reaching out to shake her hand. “I only got here a few minutes ago myself. It’s a pleasure meeting you.”
Emmeline’s fingers are long and slim, her skin cool and dry to the touch. “Same here,” she says, squeezing my hand with just the right amount of pressure before gracefully lowering her arm. “Thank you for coming all the way out here to meet with me. My sister is a student at the Brooklyn Conservatory of Music, so I’m staying in the area until my flight tomorrow morning.”
“Of course. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” I say as we sit down at the table.
For the next few minutes, we make small talk and get to know one another. I don’t say anything about the mix-up with Emma—I don’t need Emmeline thinking I’m a total idiot—but I do explain that I didn’t have a chance to review the file Victoria sent me. As I’d hoped, Emmeline waves away my apologies, saying that it’s just as well that we can get to know each other without preconceived notions. It’s obvious, however, that she’s gone through her file on me. She knows everything about me, from my Wharton MBA to my current role as the head of one of the most successful hedge funds in New York City.
After we place our order with the waiter, I learn that Emmeline is thirty-one years old and a graduate of Harvard Law. For the past three years, she’s headed a nonprofit foundation providing legal services for abused women and children. She’s passionate about her work and spends over eighty hours a week on the foundation; it’s not just a hobby for her, though her family is wealthy enough that she could’ve done absolutely anything career-wise—or nothing.
“My great-great-grandfather made a fortune in railroads way back when,” she says, smiling. “And my family has somehow managed to retain and grow it over the past century and a half. So yes, I’m one of those trust fund babies.” Her smile holds a self-deprecating charm that softens the aristocratic lines of her face, and I find myself genuinely liking her.
Emmeline is the real deal, the woman I’ve been hoping to meet ever since I decided to set my sights on yet another marker of success: the ultimate trophy wife.
As the waiter brings out our food, we discuss everything from world events to the recent volatility in the market, and I find that Emmeline’s views closely align with my own. She’s knowledgeable and thoughtful in her opinions, her legal training evident in her well-reasoned approach to most issues. I enjoy listening to her, and she seems interested in what I have to say as well.
It also doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful to look at, in a sleek, thoroughbred kind of way. Her long-sleeved sweater dress is stylish without being trendy, her accessories are expensive but understated, and her smooth dark hair is cut in flattering layers around her perfectly oval face.