Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
This was good, since I did not live a life that would leave me dripping in jewels at age thirty-two.
I put in the simple diamond studs Mom gave me on my thirtieth birthday and strapped on the champagne metallic, high-heeled evening sandals. I then touched my signature scent (one of my few splurges: Carolina Herrera) behind my ears and at my wrists, and I was ready for my first dinner with the Talyns.
There was a smart screen on the vanity.
I touched it to activate it and then I touched the intercom icon.
I was given a dizzying array of choices that I scrolled through until I found the one noted as Study.
I tapped it.
As I waited for a response, never having had a formal dinner in a home, I didn’t know if you were supposed to take an evening bag. But with this lipstick, reapplication was going to have to happen so I wasn’t left with a ruby ring around my lips making me look like a clown, and I didn’t have pockets.
Therefore, I was tucking my phone, compact and lippie in an evening bag when Battle’s purr came through my smart unit.
“Vivienne?”
God, even remotely, his voice wrapped around my name gave me a physical reaction.
“Are you ready for me?” I asked.
“As I have been for the last hour.”
Hmm.
We had not set an exact time to meet, and he knew that.
Don’t bite, Vivi!
“I’ll be right down,” I said, though “right down” was relative since I was on the upper floor in the north wing, he was on the ground floor in the south, and the space in between was a lot.
“Excellent,” he drawled.
I decided not to say anything else, grabbed my evening bag, took one last look at myself in the mirror, touching the chignon at my nape crafted of fluffy curls, checking if I had lipstick on my teeth, and then I took off.
I ran into no staff, no Talyns and no cats on my way to the study.
The door was open.
I steadied myself so I wouldn’t do anything stupid, say faint or act like a bitch, before I rapped on the door.
“Yes?” Battle called.
I took a breath and walked in to see Battle behind the desk again, this time wearing a dinner jacket, a crisp white shirt and a bow tie.
One could say, he worked it.
Sublimely.
He had his glasses on, and behind them, his eyes were on me.
I immediately became unsteady.
He stood.
And I was unsteadier.
God, this man was something.
“And naturally, she excels at being tardy,” he murmured, his gaze gliding the length of me.
I stopped dead between the two wingbacks in front of his desk.
And I forgot about not acting like a bitch.
“I beg your pardon?” I snapped.
His gaze came to mine.
“It’s nearly seven,” he shared.
“I was under the impression you hit the parlor whenever you were ready.”
“But you’re expected by seven.”
“Well, please accept my deepest apologies, Your Grace,” I said snootily. “But it’s your fault, considering your mattresses and sheets are the foam and springs and Egyptian cotton versions of heaven, and they made me oversleep during my nap.”
After I said this, something lazy entered his eyes as he watched me, and since that caused something not lazy at all to happen between my legs, an inappropriate response, but clearly one he was going for with that look, I nearly threw my evening bag at him.
Because…
Right.
Now what kind of games was this man playing?
To curb that desire, I tucked my bag under my arm and bit out, “Shall we do this?”
He gestured to the chairs. “Allow us, this time, not to impersonate bickering MPs on the floor of Parliament and instead sit and do this like civilized people.”
I sat, muttering, “You started it.”
Lame, also immature, but I did not care.
I heard his heavy sigh.
But what I saw was movement on the floor by the side of the desk.
I looked that way, jumped in my chair and let out a muted scream.
“What on…?” Battle murmured, having seated himself, he rose to his feet.
But I was staring.
Then I was smiling.
After that, I was crying out, “Oh my God! It’s Hagrid’s dog!”
The animal crept up to me, so I dropped a hand low and held it out to him.
He got close enough to sniff it.
It didn’t take long for him to cast judgement, since after a single sniff, he dipped his snout low and used it to toss my hand up to his head.
Approved.
I laughed, carefully leaned the dog’s way and gave his head a rubdown, cooing, “Aren’t you a gentle brute.”
“That’s Bartholomew,” Battle explained.
“He looks like his face is melting. He’s adorable.”
“He’s a Neapolitan Mastiff, and be cautioned, he’s hell on satin considering his propensity to drool.”
I gave Bartholomew a good scratch behind his ear, leaning closer and fussing, “We don’t care about drool, do we? We are who we are, and people have to accept us just so. Am I right?”