Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Instead of replying, he comes around the table and pulls the coat around my shoulders. Immediately I’m enveloped in warmth and a very expensive-smelling male scent.
I narrow my eyes. “It’s not going to make me like you more, you know.”
“Noted.” He sits down again instead of leaving, and I hate that I’m a little happy about that. “But if I ever decide to stop being boring and uptight, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Okay, you have to let that go,” I say, holding up a finger. “You were eavesdropping when I said that, so you got the intel through shady means.”
“But you still said it,” he says softly.
I swallow, because I have this awful feeling, like maybe I hurt him somehow, when I’d called him boring.
Guilt makes me defensive, and I force a smile. “I’m sure you don’t exactly go running around singing my praises. I mean, if you were to talk to Mary about me, what would you say? Probably that I’m a hot mess?”
He doesn’t reply for a few moments, and when he speaks again, it’s to change the subject.
“How did you and Collette meet?” he asks. “You two seem . . .”
“Like the odd couple? A little bit. We met at a mutual friend’s birthday a few years ago, and for whatever reason, we just clicked.” I tilt my head and study him. “What about you and Jon? How much older are you?”
He looks bemused. “My mother would tell you it’s rude to enquire about someone’s age.”
“I think Mary would tell you that only applies to women. Also, do I look like the type of person to lose sleep over proper manners?”
“True, you did reject me right in front of my face,” he says, though his smile is a little more relaxed now.
“Only because I didn’t know you were there!” I say, feeling my cheeks heat at the uncomfortable memory. Actually, everything related to this man seems to involve an uncomfortable memory. Including, increasingly, this conversation.
I try to bring us back around to safer topics once more. “So. Jon is the younger brother, or . . .”
He rolls his eyes at my persistence. “I’m two years older.”
“And you guys are . . . the same? Different? Are you competitive? Best friends?”
“We’re . . . brothers. We get along. Love each other. And yeah, Jon and I are pretty similar, but our younger brother Aaron is a bit of the black sheep.”
“Meaning he went to Harvard instead of Dartmouth?”
Thomas snorts. “More like high school dropout who moved to Silicon Valley, launched a ridiculously successful video game platform that makes him worth more than Jon and me combined.”
“Oh. Jeez. You jealous?”
Thomas doesn’t hesitate. “Not even a little bit.”
He looks away, reconsidering. “Well. Actually. Perhaps I envy Aaron’s spontaneity. But I don’t begrudge him the success, or the money. He worked hard and earned it. Jon and I work hard too, though I’d say we’re both more rule followers. Jon’s maybe a little more relaxed about it than me.”
“Whaaaaaat?” I say, in fake surprise. “I’m totally shocked to hear you’re not the relaxed type,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.
Thomas opens his mouth, but before he replies, the sound of the party grows louder as the door to the patio opens, and Jon sticks his head out. “Hey, guys. I’m glad you’re bonding and all, but pictures are about to be taken, and your presence is requested by my bride-to-be.”
Thomas looks at me, tilting his head towards the door. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” I say, matching his perfect, proper diction as I stand.
He motions me to precede him, and as I pass, Thomas reaches out a hand, as though to place his palm on my back the way he had that first night at the bar.
He jerks it back, frowning as though puzzled by his own instincts.
I’m puzzled too, not because he didn’t touch me.
But because I wanted him to.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Monday, September 19
Ugh. Ugh.
It’s official. I’m not twenty-two anymore, and my days of leaning hard into “Sunday-Funday” without repercussions are officially behind me. I spent yesterday with my friend Danielle, who of all my friends is the biggest party girl. Unlimited mimosas at brunch had stupidly turned into an afternoon at a wine bar, and though I’d wisened up enough to switch to club soda by the time we met up with a few more friends in the Village for an early dinner, the damage had been done.
So now it’s Monday morning, and my.head.hurts.
It’s not the worst hangover I’ve ever had, and I’m wearing clean underwear instead of bikini bottoms. So, a slight improvement over this time last Monday.
But if I’m going to survive five days a week with Thomas Decker as my boss, I need to do better than slight improvement. I need to bring my A-game all the time. I’m not off to a good start, and I’m annoyed with myself for making some rather irresponsible choices.