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)
“Oh, um, you know what? Everything Abbi ordered sounds great, so I’ll just do the exact same.” At least that way, I’ll know I’m not eating something I shouldn’t.
“The vegan substitute as well?”
“Yes. I try to avoid dairy as much as possible. Dietary thing,” I lie, thinking about the wheel of camembert waiting for me at home.
“Perfect.” Jacqueline moves on to Henry and Ronan.
“That entree is going to be so good.” Abbi adjusts her napkin on her lap. “The pastry chef here is incredible.”
“Good because I’m hungry.”
“Ronan and I ate a plate full of her pastries this morning, and they were to die for. Well, actually, I ate them.” She giggles. “Ronan had maybe one bite.”
Abbi Wolf is nothing like I imagined her to be. Sure, she looks like the photographs—polished and gorgeous, her hair a fiery red that you can pick out from across the room. But I expected a snooty, greater-than-thou woman, and she’s warm and friendly and unpretentious, and she is putting in a genuine effort to tame her husband for me. Or perhaps it’s for Ronan. That’s more likely the case.
Either way, I hate to admit it, but I like her, despite her choice in husbands. I suppose I can’t blame her. She married a disgustingly handsome billionaire who seems to dote on her.
The man to my left leans over then, throwing an arm across the back of my chair and invading my personal space as he says, “Abigail, I brought my camera. When will we take your photos?”
“Oh!” She bites her bottom lip in thought. “Maybe tomorrow morning if you have time? Henry will be golfing.”
“No, Henry must be present,” Henry says, referring to himself in third person.
Abbi scowls at him. “Relax. They’re maternity pictures. With my giant belly hanging out.”
“Joel, what will Abigail wear for this photo shoot?” he asks calmly.
“Uh, how do we say … less is more?” Joel says with a grin. He’s classically handsome, though there’s a devilish gleam in his eye that I don’t trust.
“Less is more.” Henry’s smile is superior as he regards his wife. “I’ll be there for this photo shoot.”
She opens her mouth to answer—or argue.
“This is not a negotiation.”
With a heavy sigh laced with irritation, she asks, “And what time can you work me into your schedule?”
“Talk to Miles, but we will make something work.” Henry leans in to whisper, but I’m within earshot to catch, “You are not taking off your clothes for another man unless I am there. You know the rules.”
I immerse myself in my lavender water while pretending I didn’t hear that last part. The rules? What does that mean? If Henry is there, his wife can strip for other men?
“Joel, have you met Sloane?” Abbi asks, gesturing to me. “She came with Ronan.”
“Just a quick hello when we sat down. It is a pleasure to meet you, Sloane.” My name in his accent is enchanting.
“Joel was our photographer at our wedding,” Abbi explains. “And the pictures he took are out of this world. I still look at them all the time.”
“I’ve seen them. I mean—” I stumble over my words, not wanting to come off sounding like a stalker. “—they were all over the internet.”
“Ugh.” Abbi rolls her eyes. “Yeah, the media would not leave us alone for a while there. It’s gotten better, though. They’ve moved on to their next target.”
I know. I had endless material to pull from with those headlines while the paparazzi were in a feeding frenzy. And now I realize who I’m sitting next to—Joel the photographer, aka the pervert who takes intimate pictures of women mid-orgasm. My cheeks flush as I make the connection. Okay, maybe it’s not so odd or controlling that Henry isn’t keen on leaving his pregnant wife alone with this guy.
“It seems I have time in the morning for a shoot,” Joel purrs in my ear. “What do you say?”
“Me?” I squeak.
“Oui. I am always looking for a model and this face … This body…” His gaze dips down into my cleavage.
“Uh … I don’t know how to pose.” That’s the truth. I see all these girls in their bikinis at Starfish Beach, arching their backs, sucking in their cheeks, and all I can think of is how ridiculous they all look.
“It is no effort at all. Well, no effort for you. I do all the work.” He winks.
Oh my God. Is he hitting on me?
I try to catch Ronan’s attention, but he and Margo are deep in conversation. I wish I could hear what they’re discussing, but the buzz of voices is too loud.
“Sorry, I’m working tomorrow. Maybe another time.” As in never o’clock.
“For your first course.” A male server appears over my shoulder, holding a bottle of white. Thankfully, it forces Joel out of my personal space. “A Chenin Blanc, its blend of fruit and nuttiness a perfect complement to the blue cheese and pear.”