Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
“Sorry, I’m just happy for you,” I say. His eyes roam over me from head to toe before he clears his throat and holds up the bottle of champagne between us.
“I’m sure this tastes like shit, but a friend bought it for a special occasion.”
“That champagne is one of the best on the market. It does not taste like crap,” I inform him, and he laughs, the deep, rumbling sound making my belly feel funny. “Give it to me before you ruin it with your negative energy.”
I take it from his hand and then grab a rag to wipe it down before starting the task of carefully removing the black-and-gold metal foil around the cork and unscrewing the casing over the top.
When I’m done, I hand it back to him, noticing he now has the first button of his shirt undone and the sleeves rolled up, exposing his throat and muscular forearms. “Here, you can pull out the cork.”
Taking it from me, he places his thumb under the edge, and my eyes widen. “Wa—!” I open my mouth to tell him not to open it like that, but I’m too late. The cork flies out, cracking against the ceiling in the kitchen, and champagne bubbles out from the bottle, spilling onto the tile at our feet. “You just twist it off,” I whisper, and he looks at me before his eyes go to the very obvious indent in the ceiling above us, then to his feet. “I’ll clean it up.”
“I got it. You can pour.” He hands me the bottle, then grabs some paper towels to clean up the floor.
“Do you have champagne glasses?” I ask, and the moment he looks at me, I know that’s a dumb question because the guy doesn’t even have matching drinkware. “Never mind.”
I go to the cabinet where he keeps his glasses and coffee mugs and grab two of them. Then, unwilling to drink warm champagne, no matter if it is some of the best out there, I go to the freezer, get some ice cubes, and put a few in each of our cups before pouring the clear bubbly.
By the time I’ve got each of us a glass, he’s done with the task of cleaning up the floor. I hand him his drink, then hold up mine. “To you becoming a detective.”
“And to you passing your realtor test.” He touches his cup to mine, and our eyes lock as we take a drink. For me, the bubbly liquid hits my tongue, making me want more. But he obviously does not feel the same, which he makes very clear by the expression of disgust on his handsome face.
“Fuck, how can you drink that shit?” he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“It’s delicious.” I giggle, taking another sip while he shakes his head and sets his cup down.
“It’s garbage.” He goes to the fridge, grabs a bottle of some dark liquid from the cabinet above it, then looks back at me. “So, what’s your plan now that you’ve got your realtor license?” He pours himself two fingers of whiskey.
“I was going to work under a realtor, but my dad wants me to work for Bender and Sons as a realtor at one of the properties he owns.” I lean against the counter behind me, my body already feeling relaxed from the little bit of champagne I’ve had.
“What do you want?” he asks, leaning his hip against the counter opposite me.
I drag in a breath as I think about how to respond to that question. “I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “I like the idea of working for my family’s business, but I don’t want anyone thinking I haven’t earned whatever job I’m given.” I lift one shoulder.
“Someone made you feel like that?” he asks, once again studying me. For once, I don’t feel uncomfortable, probably thanks to the alcohol filling my empty stomach.
“Everyone in my dad’s office hates me.” I laugh before taking another sip of my drink, and he gives me a doubtful look. “It’s true. I’ve overheard them talking about me more than once. None of them wants me there, and none of them thinks I should be there regardless of the fact that my dad owns the company.”
“What the fuck?”
“I don’t blame them.” I wave a hand out between us. “I have a degree in business that I never used, and until my dad gave me a job, I never worked a day in my life. If I were someone who walked in off the street applying for the position I have, even if it is just secretarial work, they wouldn’t have hired me.”
“That might be so, babe, but them talking shit about you is fucked up.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I turn to pour myself another cupful of champagne, this one much fuller than the last. “My dad wants me to keep working for him. And, honestly, I like the idea.” I turn back toward him. “I don’t know what will happen with Aiden once Dad is back on his feet, but if he leaves and I stop working there, the business will likely be turned over to the board, and I don’t want that. I know how much the company means to my father and what it meant to my grandfather, and none of the people my dad has on the board are emotionally invested in the success or failure of the business.”