Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 164263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 821(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 821(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
“What are you proposing?”
“We meet one afternoon a week and I will mentor you.”
I roll my eyes.
“Not that kind of mentoring.” He smirks. “Business acumen. Accounting, sales, targets, things like that. Last time we met, you were a math teacher; I read up how you came into this business, and it can’t have been an easy transition.”
“I was and it hasn’t.” I think for a moment. “Why would you do this?”
“Because I care what happens to you.” He shrugs. “And if I cannot pursue you—”
“Why did you kiss me the other night?” I cut him off.
“Honestly?”
I nod.
“I couldn’t stop myself; I was so happy to see you that it overflowed, and before I knew it I had you in my arms.”
I get a lump in my throat as I stare at him, a silent message runs between us. A distant memory of a wonderful weekend in each other’s arms.
“If things were different…” he murmurs as his eyes hold mine.
“I know.” I nod. “Why did you bait Pascal?”
“Because I can.” He shrugs. “He’s an easy target.”
“You’re evil.”
“Motivated.”
“To tell him you’re going to fuck me so deep that I won’t remember his name.”
He smiles sadly. “If only.”
We stare at each other as something hangs in the air between us but what that is exactly I just don’t know.
“This mentorship, how would it work?” I ask, to change the subject.
“We would meet one afternoon a week and talk business. I could be a sounding board if you need any advice.”
“Where would we meet?”
“At your store or at my office.”
“What day?”
“Friday afternoons are good for me. I mean when I’m in the country, of course. It wouldn’t be every week; my schedule is fully booked most of the time.”
I bite my lip as I think it over. I do need training, and this would be a great insight into big business. He could teach me how to grow and expand. This could be really beneficial, actually. Who am I kidding, the masochist in me just wants an excuse to see him.
“But Pascal….” I think out loud.
“Will think that I’m demanding you hold up your end of the deal. He doesn’t need to know of this arrangement.”
“He’s a good man, Edward.”
“I have no doubt.” He shrugs. “Not quite sure how he managed to pull you, though, but that’s another story.”
I smile softly over at him. “I’m glad you’re happy.”
“That Jonty is annoying, isn’t he?” He frowns.
“Not in the least.” I smile.
“So…Friday?”
I nod. “Friday.”
“Your place or mine?” he asks, and the double meaning hangs in the air. “You know what I mean?”
“Let’s do your office this week,” I offer.
“Okay. I will text you my details.”
“You have my number?”
“I got it from the auction sheet.”
“Right.”
“I should get back to work.”
“You should.” He sips his coffee.
“See you Friday.”
“You will.”
I stand and leave and I don’t know what I just agreed to, but I can feel his eyes watching me as I walk out of the café, and I’d be lying if I said they didn’t feel good.
The doors are heavy as I push through them and the sunshine hits my face, my conscience whispers something silent.
This is a bad idea….
If making a bed were an Olympic sport, we would hold the gold medal.
I’m on one side and Pascal has the other, we grab the corners of the quilt and walk them back to fold down as we get ready for bed. “So….” I swallow the lump in my throat to try and make this sound as casual as I can. “Edward Prescott came into work today.”
Pascal looks up from what he’s doing.
“And you were completely right,” I tell him. “He admitted to saying those horrible things only to bait you because you and he don’t get on.”
He raises his eyebrow, unimpressed. “What else did he say?”
“That he’s donating the internship to someone who needs it and that he only bid so high because it was for charity.”
He keeps folding the blankets back as he listens.
“You have nothing to worry about, he’s not going to be an asshole any longer.”
“It’s Edward Prescott,” he mutters. “He can’t help himself.”
“Well, anyway, we don’t need to worry about him anymore.”
“Good.” He climbs into bed and flicks on his side table lamp and picks up his book and begins to read. I climb in beside him and roll onto my side to watch him.
There’s no playing between us, no passion, just this wonderful warm feeling of routine.
And I have to wonder, is it Pascal that I love or the security that he brings me?
For a long time he reads as I watch him, he doesn’t even look up.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, my mind once again goes into overdrive.
Honestly I’ve never dissected my feelings as much as I am lately, I’m not sure if it’s healthy…or constructive.
I glance back over to Pascal; he doesn’t ask me what I’m thinking about because he doesn’t notice that I am. I get a vision of Edward in my store today and the excitement that came with it. It’s like every time he’s near every one of my senses is standing to attention.