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)
He stared out the window of his San Jose office. The location of the high-rise was one of the reasons he’d chosen Los Gatos as his home. While some thought San Jose was just a suburb of San Francisco, they were wrong. It was the hub of Silicon Valley, and close to Morgan Hill and Gilroy, where many companies were fleeing the high cost of rent and construction in the rest of the Bay Area.
He watched as a helicopter carefully placed a massive new air conditioning unit on a building a stone’s throw from his. The task was accomplished with precision, every calculation accurate.
If only he could be as accurate in determining how to get Michaela to see him as more than just a billionaire.
His desk phone buzzed.
He’d chosen not to have an expensive office filled with expensive furniture. But he did enjoy the creature comforts of a well-stocked sideboard, including a refrigerator and a top-of-the-line espresso machine. Instead of stopping by Santa Cruz 9 every day for his specialty coffee, he could have made it here in his office. But once he’d seen Michaela—though he hadn’t known her name at the time—the espresso machine had been gathering dust.
He leaned over the desk to push the intercom button. “Yes, Betsy?”
“The-there…” Betsy stammered. In her late forties, Betsy was a consummate professional. She never stammered, no matter what or who showed up at his door.
Suddenly, he knew exactly who would incite stammering in his usually unflappable administrative aide. He pushed the intercom button once more. “Send him in.”
Betsy stammered again. “It… it’s…” She seemed to suck air, the sound of it rushing over the intercom. “He’s not alone.”
Good Lord. Who the hell could be with Fernsby?
When his office door opened, his first thought was, Un-freaking-believable. Fernsby flourished a hand for Susan Spencer and Flo Killian to precede him into the office.
“Nice digs,” Flo said.
“Great view,” Susan added.
He had to admit the sight sometimes struck him dumb, especially as the sun set over the city. His desk was ordinary oak, stained a dark shade, and only four chairs sat around the conference table. But the sofa was comfortable. He occasionally slept on it when he’d been working late, if he hadn’t already fallen asleep at his desk. His computer, to which he’d attached two monitors, was state of the art. But he didn’t have any Van Gogh paintings hanging on the walls or Ming vases in the corner.
He should have offered them coffee, but he didn’t want to let them get a toehold in his domain.
“I can do this myself,” he said, harsh emphasis in his voice. He knew exactly what this little conclave was all about.
Flo arched an eyebrow. She wore leggings with patches of colorful material on them. Her tunic blouse, matching the material on her leggings, fell in flowing folds past her hips. Flo would have made everything herself, and she looked both elegant and relaxed.
But they weren’t here to talk about clothing.
“Judging by my daughter’s state when she returned from your cruise yesterday,” Flo said sweetly, “you clearly can’t do it yourself.”
The moment she said it was the moment he accepted that she was right. That kiss had been amazing, glorious even. But Michaela had jumped right back into her chainmail armor and felt farther away from him than ever.
Faced with Flo, Susan, and Fernsby, admitting that felt like some sort of surrender. But if he didn’t admit defeat, he feared that any relationship with Michaela was screwed beyond all recognition. FUBARed, in military parlance.
Though he avoided scuffing his shoes on the carpet like a little kid, he managed to say, “All right, fine, I need your help.” Then he added, “Please.”
Flo glanced at Fernsby, who raised one eyebrow. “Please, dear lady, I believe you would best handle this conversation.”
Fernsby deferring? Unthinkable. Yet Troy had seen him defer to Susan Spencer too. That lovely woman nodded, then, unbelievably, she hip-bumped Flo.
Michaela’s mother crossed her arms over her chest. “Michaela came home from the cruise a little miffed with me because I shared all her favorite things. That said, I’m still one hundred percent on board with this. You two seem like a perfect match, or I wouldn’t be here. I knew it from the moment I saw you at the gallery.”
He couldn’t be sure, but he thought she fluttered her eyelashes at him.
“My daughter has never dated a man I thought was good enough for her.” She paused. And then she hit him with it. Hit them all with it. “Until you.” Her eyes, so like Michaela’s, suddenly blazed with a vibrant emerald light. “Don’t prove me wrong.”
Flo Killian was a mama bear who would do anything for her daughter. If he even thought about hurting Michaela, Flo’s backlash would not be good.
Luckily, he had no intention of hurting Michaela.