Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Two years?”
“Oh yeah! These companies book years out, and the contracts are huge. We’re talking millions.”
I whistle. This is the first I’m hearing of this.
“And corporate has big prizes for the people who bring in the biggest contracts.”
“What kind of prizes are we talking about?”
“Oh boy, I don’t know. Cars, vacations, that sort of thing.”
We round the corner and push through the doors of Opal Reef. Chester is waiting for us.
“What’s the verdict?” I ask by way of greeting.
His hollowed cheeks blow out with a deep exhale. “So, the good news is I got someone in late last night to assess the system.”
“And?”
“And it’s what Ray thought it might be—a faulty part that is about to kick it.”
I curse. “Do they have the part?”
“In Switzerland, so I made him sit in that chair—” He points to one of the dining tables in the corner. “—until after midnight when he could call his head office in Zurich. They put the part on a FedEx plane. It should be here by 4:00 p.m., and then he’ll come and install it …”
Chester’s words drift as a form appears in my line of sight, her long, fiery red hair gleaming in the midmorning sun.
Abbi approaches, her pastel pink dress hugging her round belly. It’s only been a few weeks, and yet she’s grown noticeably. She’s still all baby, though. Baby and tits. There’s a radiant glow about her. I’ve always heard that about pregnant women, but I’ve never actually seen it until now.
God, she is so happy to be carrying Henry’s child.
And I’m genuinely happy for her, even if he is a prick.
“Ronan?”
“Huh?” Chester’s gruff voice breaks into my reverie.
“I was just saying that if all goes as planned, it’ll be good as new tonight.”
“Perfect. Thanks for being on top of this.” I drop a pat on his shoulder. “If there are any delays at all, let me know immediately.” With that, I move to close the distance to Abbi, embracing her in a hug. “I was hoping I’d run into you.” I inhale deeply. She smells like her strawberry body cream but also, fuck, like Henry’s cologne. I know that scent. He must have rubbed himself all over her before they parted ways, like an animal marking their territory.
“Same.” She pulls away, regarding the dress shirt I swapped this morning’s golf shirt for, the top buttons undone. “I heard you’re still resisting the tie.”
“You mean the noose?”
“Is that what you wore to my wedding? A noose?”
“That was an exception.” And it sure fucking felt like I was dying that day. “Seems I don’t have a lot of say in what I wear, but I draw the line at ties.” They remind me of church picnics and Sunday dinners at my great-aunt Edna’s, who smelled of mothballs and baby powder and forced me to eat liver.
“Someone has to make sure you don’t show up to important meetings in rock band T-shirts and jeans,” she teases, reaching up to adjust my collar.
“Who’s been tattling on me?” Belinda, obviously.
“More like looking out for you.” Abbi’s hand drifts, patting my chest on its way back down to her side. “So? How are things? Really?”
“Is this for an official report to His Highness?”
“No, it’s between you and me. I promise.” Her expression is earnest.
God, it’s been years since Abbi and I traded secrets. She was always so easy to talk to. The overwhelming urge to dump everything out into the open hits me. But where do I even begin? Definitely not standing here, in Opal Reef, with people lingering nearby. I check my watch. It’s 10:00 a.m. “You’ve probably had breakfast.”
“My first, yes.” She rubs her belly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I heard the pastry chef is doing a trial run and needs volunteer samplers.”
I chuckle at her appetite and holler over my shoulder, “Archie, reschedule my next hour for me, ’kay?”
“But you have—”
“I don’t care. Tell them Mrs. Wolf is hungry.” I drape an arm around her shoulder, a friendly gesture that would piss off Henry to no end. “Lead the way, Red.”
She moans through a bite as I watch her devour a freshly baked pain au chocolat. Fiona Crumb, pastry chef extraordinaire according to the hotel’s website and aptly named, was only too happy to send a platter of various treats to Seraphina’s for Henry Wolf’s wife.
We’ve since abandoned our table and found a cabana to stretch out in—aka hide—while admiring the expanse of gulf water and white sand. It truly is an idyllic spot, despite the oppressive heat that the ceiling fan does little to combat.
Everything will change tomorrow, when the wave of media open attendees rolls in and the hotel is buzzing with activity, but for today, it’s just Abbi and me and a few staff prepping for the onslaught of activity.
I ordered them to leave us alone.