Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Chapter Eight
“Fernsby, won’t you join us?”
Michaela was such a lovely young lady, and Fernsby appreciated lovely young ladies. But he was quick to answer. “Thank you very much, but no. I must get back to Dane Harrington’s pied-à-terre here in San Francisco. Lord Rexford will require feeding and a walk.”
“Lord Rexford?” she asked with one pretty eyebrow raised.
But it was Troy who answered. “The dog.”
Fernsby was tempted to say that Lord Rexford was far more than just a dog. He was a Lord. He was also a convenient excuse to send the couple off on their own. Fernsby glanced pointedly at his watch. “Lord Rexford will be ravenous by now.”
Troy added with a smile, “I hope he didn’t piddle on the hardwood.”
Allowing himself to sound somewhat affronted, Fernsby drawled, “His restraint is as legendary as mine, sir.”
With a gesture, he shooed the two on their way, which, he had a feeling, the dear boy wanted very badly.
Fernsby had seen those sparks flying.
He headed in the opposite direction, away from the crowd of Mathilda Sullivan’s fans.
Turning a corner, and once he was alone, he collapsed against the building. “She remembered me.” He actually said it aloud. He hadn’t truly thought it possible. But she had remembered. He’d damn near fainted right there in front of her. And he felt faint even now. Just thinking about his first sight of her after so many years, he had to slap himself on both cheeks, one after the other, to bring himself back to his senses.
Then he remembered the book under his arm. She had signed it, and he was compelled to read her words again. He could barely breathe as he fumbled with it, almost dropping the book, which wasn’t like him at all. Fernsby never fumbled. After all, he was Fernsby.
But somehow, he didn’t feel like himself right now. He felt like… Rolly. He managed to open to the title page bearing her lovely handwriting. He didn’t even realize he was reading aloud until he heard his own voice. “Dearest Rolly, I’m so happy to finally see you again after all these years.” His blood rushed in his ears as he said the last line. “Love, Mathilda.”
He was feeling faint again. He’d tucked her personal card into the book. The one on which she’d written her mobile number. But he could never presume. She didn’t truly mean for him to use it. And then, still talking to himself, he said, “Certainly, she meant nothing by any of it. She was just being polite.”
But his blood was rushing, and his heart was racing. It wouldn’t do to faint here on the street.
Because he had a mission. Michaela and Troy. She was a delightful girl. Perfect for Troy. The air had been sparking around them with all the sexual tension. It was his duty to bring them together. He knew about the bet between Gabrielle and Troy regarding who would fall in love first. He also knew Troy had hired Michaela to matchmake for Gabby. And he knew those two delightful ladies had turned the tables on Troy, forcing him to accept matchmaking as well.
Of course he knew all this. He was Fernsby, and he knew everything. Especially things no one else did.
Troy Harrington had definitely met his match. Fernsby would make sure of that.
Then, inexplicably, he couldn’t help clutching the book to his chest once more.
She remembered me.
Troy had asked for a corner booth at the back of the restaurant, and it had suddenly been vacated. Really, all a billionaire had to do was think a thing, and it happened.
Michaela didn’t even resent it. It was perfect. Perfumed flowers surrounded the dimly lit booth in the elegant Thai restaurant. Diners didn’t chatter—they spoke in soft voices as the waitstaff moved silently among the tables. And now, the scent of sizzling meat and enticing spices from the dishes on their table filled the air.
Or maybe the enticing scent was Troy.
He’d been on one date. And now he’d asked her to set him up with someone else. What did that mean? And why hadn’t things worked out with Alice?
Though, in her heart of hearts, Michaela had been happy to hear that very thing.
And nothing, not even the apocalypse, could have stopped her from saying, “Tell me what didn’t work between you and Alice. That way, I’ll know what to consider for your next date.” That sounded reasonable. And she sounded quite cool. Even though she was dying for all the details.
His smile was almost wolfish in the dim light. “We didn’t have anything in common. She’s a dinner-and-dancing kind of woman. She loves Broadway shows. I like hiking and anything sporty.”
Michaela could only think, I’d rather hike than go to a show. She wanted to slap her hand over her mouth as if the words might slip out.