Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
It was a conversation she and I had shared many times. We loved what we did for Maris, even before my grandfather had died. And we both recognized we were in prime career-building years. We could find love later.
But hearing her say it now made me feel… annoyed. Cheated somehow.
Stifled.
“You do,” I said. “You have time.”
She laughed. “Right.”
Her grin changed into a familiar expression of challenge. “If you don’t have time, neither do I.”
I knew what she was doing. We both did.
“Fine,” I said, unwilling to have this discussion right now.
“But if things change, Maris… you let me know.”
Instead of sitting in her smug righteousness, she jumped right back into work stuff, explaining the highlights of Carina Bouchard’s resume and then moving on to the other urgent items she needed from me today.
When we were done, I was exhausted, even though it was only one in the afternoon. Thankfully, it was lunchtime, and that meant getting to sit down for a meal with Jett. Every minute spent in his company entertained me in some way. He was a joy to be around, even if he was provoking or angry.
Thankfully, today he was neither.
His face lit up when I stepped onto the balcony and joined him at the table. “Ah, the hardworking CEO spares time for sustenance. Come. I’ve slain some PB&J for you.”
I took his outstretched hand and gave a mock bow over it. “If Roberto sends out such a sammy, I will literally suck your dick right here,” I said in a low voice.
His eyes widened, and he called out toward the kitchen. “Zuri! Change my order, please!”
The young server came rushing out of the kitchen door with a small tray of lemonade. “Absolutely. What would you like, Mr. Davis?”
He frowned before glancing at me and looking back at her. “You don’t need to be formal with me, even around the curmudgeon. It’s Jett, please.”
She looked nervously at me. How was it possible that everyone in my house saw Jett as the fucking messiah while they viewed me like a smoking volcano that might erupt at any moment?
“He’s right,” I said gently, trying to hide my annoyance. “It’s best to treat guests the way they would like to be treated, and please don’t be uneasy around me.”
She gave a hesitant smile. “Yes, sir.” Then she turned to Jett. “What would you like?”
“Any chance Roberto has peanut butter and jelly back there?”
She crinkled her face. “Zero chance. But he said he can make your favorite salad or grill you a piece of chicken if you don’t like the farro and butternut squash dish he has prepared.”
Jett smiled at her and shook his head. “The farro sounds amazing, Zuri. Thank you.”
I murmured my thanks as she set the lemonade glasses in front of each of us and disappeared again. Then I turned to Jett. “How has your morning been?”
He looked pleased by my interest. “I spent the first part of the morning helping Concetta and Zuri with flower arrangements for the bedrooms. Concetta wasn’t happy with the way they’d arrived from the florist. Then I consulted with my cousin Cas about which outfit to wear to what event this week because he has better taste than the person who picked out these clothes. After that, I checked my email, drooled over my Instagram feed, and got a workout in. You?”
We spoke about preparations for the upcoming week, my ridiculous interview with the name-dropper, the time Jett met Sabrina Carpenter and had no idea who she was. The most famous man Jett had ever hooked up with. The most famous woman I had. Throughout it all, I felt a strange combination of relief that the conversation was so shallow and disappointment that I couldn’t keep listening to him talk. I wanted to gather more tidbits of his life like I was walking along an endless beach collecting the seashells Jett loved so much.
No matter how plain each one might seem, all of them were special. And together, they made a unique and interesting collection.
I wanted more. I wanted them all. My fingers itched with need of them.
But when our plates were empty, he hopped up. “Welp, I’m headed to town to visit the market with Roberto. He said I could carry his bags.”
Before I could respond with anger, he laughed and fake-punched me in the stomach. “Joking, babe. Joking. Kind of.”
It was a flirty move, one which I was supposed to return with a fake punch of my own, maybe. Instead, I reached for his wrist and pulled him to me until our chests collided. Then I inhaled his gasp before taking his lips in mine to remind him which man in this house he was supposed to be serving. Within seconds, I deepened the kiss simply to get more of him.
The little high-pitched whimper he let out was brief but satisfying. His surrender to my kiss was even more satisfying.