Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 238(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
He mumbled something as I joined him in the bedroom.
“What did you say?”
“I said it must be nice for her to share that with you when my sister and my cousins have been begging for years.”
“Really?” How thoughtful of his mother to not only give me her recipe, but go through it, step-by-step, with me. I would have to send her a card and thank her again.
“Hurry up and pack before the nice FBI agents shoot us.”
The packing did not take long. Besides my clothes and all the things in my bathroom, there really wasn’t much. Even the agents were surprised by how little I possessed.
“Was this place furnished when you moved in?” one of the agents asked, leaning in and glancing around.
I nodded.
“Yeah, it looks like it.”
That wasn’t very nice.
“You have no plates or silverware of your own?” the other asked me.
“No. I never found anything I really liked.”
“Okay, can we go?” Colton said belligerently. “Being here always makes me sad.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say,” I scolded him.
“Yeah, but he’s right,” the first agent said.
I had lots of clothes on hangers because I had—probably—too many shoes, and they alone filled one suitcase. There were coats, jackets, and sweaters as well. It was nice when the agents offered to help schlep. I needed to reassess them being stuffy.
On the way to Colton’s apartment, I had to roll down the window in the back.
“He’s nauseous because he’s hungry,” Colton advised the agents.
“If you want, we can stop at Theory since it’s on the way to Bucktown and open late,” the first agent suggested. “The food is good, and we can check the scores.”
“Of what?” I asked.
“Anything,” he said.
“Fine,” I agreed. “But first, since we’re going to share a meal, what are your names?”
“I’m Beale, and he’s Diaz,” Beale said with a smile. “You’re all right, kid.”
“I’m twenty-eight,” I told him. “Not a kid at all.”
“You don’t strike me as twenty-eight, and besides, anyone younger than me is a kid.”
“That’s right,” Diaz concurred.
Theory was a sports bar, but that did not interest me in the least. Only my amazing Tuscan turkey sandwich that I ate with waffle fries and sweet-potato tots. Colton shook his head as I wiggled in my seat with happiness.
“At least he’s enjoying his food,” Diaz pointed out.
Colton nodded, finishing his Southwest salad, because unlike me, he’d eaten with his friends earlier that night. I was supposed to have eaten at Mr. Somerset’s, but because of Janelle, I had to abandon my plate. Colton had a previous engagement, so he’d chosen to eat with people he liked instead and make a cursory appearance at Mr. Somerset’s dinner. And then, of course, he ended up having to collect me.
“I gotta tell you something funny,” I began, grinning. “Jonah hit on Mr. Somerset’s seventeen-year-old daughter.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he rumbled. “How is that funny?”
“Because he had no idea she was seventeen.”
His eyebrows lifted. “No.”
“Yes. Had no idea at all. He thought she was in her twenties.”
“Which is still too young for him.”
“But not illegal.”
“And you did what?”
“I interfered because she looked uncomfortable, and you know I always have to say something in those situations.”
“Yes, I know.”
“It turned out fine, because he was mortified and I persuaded her to change out of her little black dress and into actual cold-weather clothing.”
“That was helpful.”
“Because I’m always helpful,” I concluded.
“And hungry,” Diaz chimed in. “That’s impressive how many carbs you put away.”
I smiled at him.
“So since you helped the man, is that why he’s suddenly Jonah? Did you bond after you stepped in?”
“I think we did.”
“I don’t care. You’re not allowed to go work for him.”
I waved my hand dismissively. “He doesn’t actually want me, he’s only worried because he’s losing Tobias.”
“Who?”
“His assistant.”
“Which one is Tobias?”
“You said he dresses like he should be parking cars at an Italian restaurant.”
Beale smiled. “I can totally see this guy in my head.”
“Right?” Colton said, then grinned at me. “Okay, so why is he losing Tobias?”
Reaching across the table, I slipped my hand around his wrist, because I always had to touch him when we were talking. “Because Drummond Burgess is coming to work at the firm on Monday, and Tobias is going to work for him.”
“Drummond?”
I waggled my eyebrows at him.
“David Burgess named his kid Drummond?”
“Maybe it’s a family name and he had no choice,” Beale offered.
“I think you say no in those situations,” Colton replied.
“Oh, I’m certainly not arguing with you,” Beale said as he ate another fry.
“What does that shorten to?” Colton asked me. “Drum?”
I gasped, and his grin made his eyes glint. “I asked the same question, and apparently yes, you will call him Drum, not Mond.”
“Mond is terrible,” Diaz put in. “Drum isn’t much better.”
“These are rich people, am I right?” Beale asked.
I nodded. “Drummond is the first name partner’s son.”
“Are you a partner?” Diaz asked me.