Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102394 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Oh.”
He pushed his chair back and stood, taking his plate with him. “Yeah, oh.”
***
“Do you see someone you know?” Jett asked. He turned and looked over his shoulder toward the bar, where Wes was now sitting.
Great. Now I was lying and being rude because of that man. Why the hell did Wes need to come inside the restaurant? He’d been in the car out front when I’d walked in.
“Sorry. No. I must’ve gotten lost in thought, picturing what the movie might look like. Your ideas gave me such a good visual.” Great. More lies... Weren’t bodyguards supposed to watch but not be seen?
At least Jett seemed happy with my response. He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, The Hunted begs for a cinematic adaptation, especially with it being set in Charleston.”
We spent another hour talking about his ideas for the book-to-film screenplay I’d be writing. This would be the second project Jett Bradbury and I had worked on together. The first had been eighteen months ago, which was when I’d developed my secret crush on him. But he’d been dating someone—a pretty big Hollywood actress—until very recently. This was actually the first time I’d seen him since his breakup.
Jett was in the middle of describing how he visualized the ending of the movie when I noticed a tall blonde sidle up to Wes at the bar. I tried my best to keep my eyes on Jett, but the task wasn’t easy. Through my peripheral vision, I watched as Wes and the woman spoke for a few minutes, and then the woman handed him her phone. He typed something into it and gave it back with a smile before she disappeared. That annoyed me, though I obviously had no reason to feel annoyed, and I couldn’t shake my bristly mood through the rest of my lunch meeting and the entire drive home.
“Who was the woman you were speaking to at the bar?” I finally asked Wes once we were back in my kitchen.
“Her name was Clover,” he said. “I think.”
“Clover? What kind of a name is Clover?”
He shrugged.
“You met her for the first time today? It looked like you gave her your phone number.”
He shrugged. “She asked for it.”
“Clover just walked up to you—a complete stranger—and asked for your phone number?”
“Yep.”
Jesus, and I don’t even have the balls to ask Jett out for a drink—a man I’ve known for a year and a half.
“How was your lunch meeting?” Wes asked.
“Good. Jett likes to be involved in the adaptation of his books. Sometimes that makes the process more difficult, but he has really good ideas.”
“What’s his deal? Is he married or something?”
“No, why?”
“Then why hasn’t he asked you out?”
“I don’t think I’m his type.”
Wes looked me up and down, and his brows dipped. “Why not?”
“Because he likes statuesque blondes with big boobs who wear dresses with glitter.”
Wes opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. When it became apparent he was done with the conversation, I decided to go get some work done. “You’re in for a boring afternoon,” I told him. “I’m going to be writing at my desk for most of it.”
“I’ll be out here if you need me.”
Hours later, I emerged from my bedroom. Wes was sitting on the couch looking down at his phone. I glanced over his shoulder as I passed and noticed he was texting. I immediately wondered if he was texting the woman he’d met earlier—not that it should’ve mattered to me.
Wes tossed his phone on the couch. “I was beginning to wonder if you fell asleep. I didn’t hear a peep, and you were in there for a long time.”
“When I get on a roll, I don’t take breaks.”
“I take it that means your writing went well?”
“It did, actually. I really like how the first few scenes came out. I’m excited to show them to Jett.”
Wes made a face. “Jett. What kind of dumb name is that?”
“I kinda like it. Beats Clover.” I grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge and chugged half of it. “I have to run out to Brewer’s to pick up the food Pam ordered for book club tonight.”
“All right.” He stood. “Where is that?”
“It’s at The Grove.” I grabbed my keys from the hook near the door and slipped on my shoes. “The parking there is horrible, so I might have to circle the block for a while.”
“Why don’t I just drive, and you can run in while I wait? I’ll double park and move if I’m in anyone’s way.”
“Oh. That would be great, if you don’t mind.”
The drive to Brewer’s was only about fifteen minutes, and surprisingly, there was a spot right in front.
“It must be our lucky day,” I told Wes. “I usually have to circle the shopping center for ten minutes, and then I wind up walking three blocks after I finally accept that I’m never going to find a close place to park.”