Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 39991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
“He said one more strike, and I’m fired,” she whispered as she stacked pieces of a broken plate on the tray. “I can’t be fired.”
“You won’t be. Like I said, it was my fault.”
“You’re damn right it was your fault,” Angler said from behind him. “I saw everything. You were the one whirling around with your unnaturally long arms. You’re the one who ran into her!”
Rowan stood, wishing with everything in him that the chef would speak more quietly, but no, he was yelling and making a huge scene. The heat in his cheeks was now from complete humiliation as Angler kept on berating him in front of the entire restaurant. And what was with the unnaturally long arms comment? Just because the chef more resembled a Tyrannosaurus Rex with his much shorter ones. So what if Rowan had long arms? They went with his long, skinny legs, and as Angler started yelling about how accident-prone he was, he knew he wouldn’t be responding because it was basically true.
It wasn’t that he was that accident-prone, but he did get lost in his head often enough to cause issues.
Still, anger burned low in his gut, and he opened his mouth to cut the man off, but Angler held up his hand.
“You are more trouble than you’re worth,” he said, finally lowering his tone as if finally realizing that it wasn’t smart to air so much dirty laundry in front of the customers. But then he got worked up again, voice rising as he took out all his constant anger on Rowan.
Rowan, burning with anger and humiliation, just waited for a chance to escape.
Chapter Three
Ivor
Absolute fury raged through Ivor as he watched this pompous chef yelling at someone who obviously worked for him. Another chef by his black chef’s jacket. Ivor had witnessed the accident, which had been just that—an accident. Certainly nothing that warranted this sort of unprofessional behavior.
The only thing keeping him in his seat was his utter fascination with the tall, gangly younger chef. Copper-colored hair was swept back off a thin, freckle-covered face. The freckles were reddish in color, like his hair, and even from this far away, he could see the light amber of the man’s eyes. Eyes that sparkled like gemstones. He towered over the yelling chef, but was built narrow, and right now, his cheeks were flushed red from embarrassment.
He was absolutely stunning.
“Want me to send something flying into that asshole’s head?” Emory murmured.
“Definitely.”
A mug flew off a shelf behind the bar and smacked into the back of the chef’s head, making him whirl around and glare.
“Who threw that?”
Ivor returned his gaze to the pretty, freckled man, who was again looking at him before his eyes went to Emory—or rather, Emory’s wings.
Oh, wasn’t this an intriguing addition?
Surprise had him lifting his eyebrows. The younger chef could obviously see through Emory’s glamour, making him one of those unique humans Ivor had recently learned about. Ones their glamour magic didn’t work on.
Ones who could be soulmates.
And from the color of his hair and the freckles, Ivor was guessing this was the son they were here to find. His name was Rowan. Rowan kept staring at Emory.
Ivor wanted that gaze on himself something fierce.
Then Rowan’s eyes finally moved to Ivor. They were fucking beautiful eyes, light amber that shone like polished stone. Ivor locked gazes with him, holding his breath. A strange and overwhelming feeling of rightness washed through him.
They stared at each other for a long time, and that feeling just grew more intense until it swamped every part of Ivor. Realization struck, and he narrowed his eyes to study Rowan more closely. Raw, pure lust shot through him, and it was all he could do to not let his magic loose, not release his pheromones into the room to lure Rowan in.
Rowan’s eyes flared wide, and he fled back into the kitchen.
Emory chuckled, regaining Ivor’s attention.
“Whoa,” Emory breathed. “Did you just, like, imprint on that man or something? What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know, but I’m intrigued.” That was putting it too simply. Something had just happened to him, and it had everything to do with that beautiful man.
“He’s not like the men and women you usually go for at all, but it was damned obvious you are interested. You do know you were looking at him like he was food, right?”
Ivor cracked a grin. “He very well could be.”
Emory laughed again. “True, very true. I’ve always been a little jealous of the way you feed your magic.”
Ivor tilted his head to study his friend. “What are you talking about? You don’t have to feed yours at all. That’s got to be preferable to having to feed to keep the magic sustained.”
“Yeah, but I really, really like sex.”
Ivor winked. “Luckily, so do I.” He looked back at the swinging doors the man had fled through. “I’m pretty sure he was the one we’re here to find.”