Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 526(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Katherine.
She glances between us and lifts her chin, heading to a table in the window and lowering to the chair, facing this way. What is she doing? I return my body forward, my eyes on the wooden bar, feeling her glare burning into my back. Jude’s hand is suddenly in mine, his stool moving closer.
“Next up,” he says, pointing to the martini glass Clinton’s put down.
“What is she doing?” I ask, the atmosphere shifting from easy to extremely uneasy.
“Ignore her.” He picks up the glass. “Drink.”
I try to ignore her. I try so hard, sipping the cocktail. “Nice,” I say, forcing a smile and passing Jude the glass.
He doesn’t take it, but instead leans in, getting his face close to mine. I look into his eyes as he licks from one side of my mouth to the other. “Delicious,” he whispers, and all my woes are forgotten. There is only him.
Until I hear a dramatic huff, a chair scraping the wooden floor, and the stamping of heels.
I bite my lip, seeing Katherine storming out. “That was bold of you,” I say to Jude, not looking at him. Not until he pulls me back around.
“It’s a yes from me,” he says quietly, stroking my thigh.
“And me,” I reply, pushing Katherine out of my mind.
“Two down, eight to go,” Clinton sings, getting back to work. Eight? Jesus. “The next one’s yet to be named. It’s a fast invasion of your senses and packs a punch.”
“Let’s call it the Amelia,” Jude says drily, squeezing my thigh. Clinton lets out a bark of laughter, while I turn a narrowed eye onto Jude. His nose wrinkles as he bends forward and offers me his lips. “I bet it’s got a fiery aftertaste too.”
“Let’s find out,” I murmur, edging closer, his gaze burning into mine. Drowning.
A cough snaps me out of my mesmerised state. “The Amelia,” Clinton declares, presenting me with a flute. “Enjoy.”
I take a sip and moan my appreciation. It could be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
With the exception of Jude Harrison.
“Here,” I say, passing it to Jude. “I think that’s my favourite so far.”
He nods mildly, taking a little sip, humming. Holding the glass up, he observes it as he tastes, thoughtful. Then he turns his calm eyes onto me. “Definitely my favourite,” he says quietly.
I feel a little foggy by the time we’re done, despite strictly only having a sip of each. Admittedly, I could have finished most of them. Especially the temporarily titled Amelia. That was a gift in a glass.
Clinton thanks us and disappears through the door behind the bar.
“You’re staying the night,” Jude says again, this time more surely, swivelling my stool to face him and leaning close. I can see he’s about to deploy the big guns.
I shake my head, and he pouts—it’s quite cute, even if there’s an edge of seriousness to his expression—laying his hands on my thighs. “Are you sure?”
No. “Very sure.” I lift his hands and return them to him, and he narrows an eye, obviously running over in his mind how he might convince me.
“Tomorrow?” he asks, surprising me.
I should say no. Should. “Tomorrow.”
Nodding, Jude stacks his file and laptop. “Tell me about the meeting you had with the partners last night.”
And again, I’m surprised. He’s interested? I cross one leg over the other, charmed. “It wasn’t a meeting, more an insight.”
He tilts his head as he reaches over the bar and helps himself to a jar of crisps, opening it and dipping in. “Tell me more.” Slipping one past his lips, he crunches, and my eyes root on his mouth as he slowly eats it.
“I don’t know what to tell you.” He’s eating a fucking crisp, and I’ve come over all unnecessary. “Or think, really.” Someone cool me down. “I know I’m on their radar. Me and the nice fellow you attacked.”
He rolls his eyes, taking another crisp. “I caught my foot on the leg of his chair. Total accident.”
“Sure.”
“I didn’t appreciate his body language. Or the way he was looking at you.”
“Me either,” I agree. Jude smirks. It’s dirty. “All the signs point to them offering me partnership, but I don’t want to assume.” I take a crisp and bite into it, semi-scowling at his amusement. “And numbers play a big part.”
“Are you on track?”
“I am.”
“And the nice fellow whose chair I accidently kicked from under him?”
“Leighton’s a prick, but he’s successful. He’s also ruthless. He has a certain type of client, if you know what I mean.”
“Women.”
“Yes.”
“Then you need to watch your back.”
I smile. “There’s an adviser, Tilda Spector. She’s independent and starting to ease herself into retirement, so she’ll be dispersing some of her clients.”
Jude nods, thoughtful, offering me the jar. “And she’s got her eye on you?”
“I think so.” I take another crisp. “These are really good.”
“I know.”