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)
But now there was Michaela. As he watched her cute little electric vehicle zip up the freeway ramp and disappear, he had to admit he might want something more serious than a couple of dates and a fling.
When he’d helped her out of his car, the need to kiss her, to bury his fingers in her hair, to mold her body to his, was more a compulsion than the maybe-she-will-maybe-she-won’t-no-skin-off-my-nose-if-she-doesn’t attitude he’d always had in the past. Not that he didn’t respect women—he loved women—and he had the utmost respect for his sisters and all their accomplishments. But he’d never known that I’ll-die-if-she-doesn’t feeling.
But he was feeling it now about Michaela Killian.
He would have kissed her if he hadn’t sensed her backing off right after they talked about the yacht. As if all of a sudden, he’d become off-limits. Which reminded him all over again that Michaela didn’t date billionaires. He ached to know why. But since this had been like a first date, at least for him, he hadn’t wanted to ruin it by asking her.
But maybe he should have asked instead of bringing up the yacht. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked her to matchmake for Gabby, which put him in the realm of a client. Except then, he’d never have met her.
And now, when he wanted Michaela the way he used to want a gold medal, he didn’t have a clue how to go about making her want him back.
But he knew exactly where to turn for help.
“Michaela does a lot more than matchmake couples,” Troy told his family as they gathered around the massive center table in one of their favorite Los Gatos restaurants. They’d chosen it for this month’s family mastermind since it was halfway between San Francisco and Pebble Beach. Though Dane and Cammie often went up to their flat on San Francisco’s Nob Hill, this time they’d come from the Monterey Bay area. Troy hadn’t pointed out how easy they’d made it for him; he’d simply booked the table.
The fajitas sizzled, the freshly made taco shells crunched, the burritos came filled with sour cream, salsa, and guacamole, and the margaritas were tastier than any he made at home.
“So, I’m having her look for that yacht I was thinking about buying. She’s got a lot of contacts, and I’m sure she can find the perfect one for me.”
Dane shot out a harsh breath. “You want to buy a boat?”
Troy nodded, swallowing a bite of his fajita. “Not just a boat. A yacht.”
Clay squinted. “Since when have you wanted a yacht?”
Since last night. Honestly, he had thought about it before. But when Michaela mentioned boats last night, the idea had suddenly coalesced. He had to have a yacht. “At least a hundred and fifty feet.” He ignored Clay’s question.
When that evidently shut his brother up, he went on, “She’s very good at what she does. She matched my buddy Dirk and his wife.” He leaned forward, pointing his fork in the air. “Do you know that she brought the two owners of FoodFast together? One of them was earning money by running out to get food for the other students who were studying, and she matched him with the perfect programmer. Without her, we wouldn’t have FoodFast. And she did that when she was in freaking university.” He couldn’t help adding, “She had a full-ride scholarship to Stanford.” He dropped his fork so he could hold his arms out as if to encompass how incredible that was.
Using a knife and fork on his burrito, because God forbid he should pick it up, Fernsby said, “Troy and I had the privilege of spending more time with Miss Killian at the book signing last night. Apparently, she’s a fan, and it was quite a surprise to see her there. A delightful young lady. And very appreciative of Mathilda Sullivan’s work, I might add. Such discernment is admirable.”
Dane raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so Troy went too.” Then he asked, “How was the book signing?” He probably wanted to glean any tidbits about Fernsby and the author from the man himself. “Did you get your signed copy?”
“I did indeed, sir. And I shall treasure it.” Which was all he seemed about to say on the subject.
Fernsby’s droll tones reminded Troy of that scene with Mathilda Sullivan. When she’d called him Rolly. No way had she said my boy. His first inclination had been to run to the family and tell them everything he’d witnessed, from the name to the way Fernsby had stammered, to the card with her phone number, to how he’d stared down at Mathilda’s inscription in the book. But the more Troy thought about it, the more he questioned whether he had any right to reveal what he’d seen, since he’d basically horned his way into the book signing anyway. It was Fernsby’s secret to tell, not his. Just as Troy couldn’t break into the payroll service to find out Fernsby’s first name and age, he shouldn’t reveal what he’d overheard. It wouldn’t be right.