Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“You’re trying to win me over,” she says, focusing on my left shoulder.
“Yes,” I say. Wasn’t it obvious? “I don’t want you to be unhappy. Just come and look. I see how important you are to the other staff at Crompton. If you take a look at the plans, you can tell them what you think.”
She pauses for a moment, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, her eyes focused on the mustard, my steak—anywhere but my eyes. “I suppose I could come and. . .see if what you’re telling us is . . .”
“Come and see if I’m telling the truth.”
We lock eyes for the first time since I arrived and she pulls in a breath. “Okay.”
I can’t help but smile. She’s beautiful and I can’t tear my gaze from her. She’s going to see that I’m not trying to make her life worse. This hotel will be a great investment for me and the community where it stands.
“Oh, and take a look at this.” I pull the two-page job description I had my VP of employment draw up.
“What is it?” She takes the papers.
“A job description—head of guest relations for the hotel. You’d be a perfect fit.”
“I don’t have any experience,” she says, clearly flustered.
“We’re going to retrain you. You’re great with people. I’ve seen how comfortable you make people in the pub and the tea shop, how you notice little details and genuinely care for people. You’d be great. But think about it. I don’t need an answer now. Come and see the plans tomorrow and we can talk more.”
She doesn’t return my smile. “Eat your steak. You’re going to need the creatine.”
I smile up at her. “Does that mean you’re going to give me a workout?” I know I shouldn’t be flirting with her, but she’s completely irresistible.
She shoots me her meanest look, which I probably shouldn’t find quite as sexy as I do, and leaves. Again.
FOURTEEN
Kate
I’ve brought a notebook and pen with me. I’m sure he’ll find that less intrusive than me photographing everything, although if I get the chance, I will snap a few shots. If I find something I think the other Crompton staff won’t like, I want evidence. Even if I’ve had to accept Vincent turning the house into a hotel is something everyone wants, I see it as my job to make sure he stays true to his word. If I find any difference between what he’s promised and what he does, I’ll be the first to pull him up on it. If the Crompton staff don’t want me to lead their opposition to Vincent’s plans, I can at least be their advocate and protector. Somewhere along the way, I hope I’ll get comfortable with the change ahead of me. I just don’t know if it’s possible.
I square my shoulders and press the huge Victorian bell that must have been installed long after the house was built, but still a hundred years ago.
I brace myself to come face-to-face with Vincent, who’s very probably the best-looking man I’ve ever laid eyes on and very definitely the best lover I’ve ever had.
The double doors swing open, but instead of Vincent, I’m greeted by another man—the one who was by his side during the announcement. I can’t remember his name. Michael maybe? He’s in his twenties, with brown hair, with a body Granny would call wiry—thin and milky white. She always says wiry people are stronger than they look and fiercely loyal. I don’t have the heart to tell her there’s scant scientific evidence of a correlation between body type and character.
“Kate, thank you for coming,” he says, all smiles. He knows my name. Vincent has briefed him about me. Goodness knows what he said: Doesn’t want the house to turn into a hotel but gives excellent blow jobs.
Of course Vincent wouldn’t be greeting visitors at the front door. Why would he when he can employ someone to do it for him?
I smile tightly. “Thank you for inviting me.” I step inside the house. Before the earl’s announcement, I hadn’t been in here for years and years. Even last week we only got to see the long room.
The entrance hall is exactly how I remember it from when I was a little girl, although it seems slightly smaller now. The sweeping staircase with the almost irresistible banisters I dreamt of sliding down is still there, looking completely magnificent.
“Will he keep the banisters?” I ask. “And the staircase?”
“Yes,” a familiar voice from the top of the stairs booms. “It will require some restoration, but there are no major works planned to the staircase.” Vincent comes down the stairs, the top buttons of his white shirt undone, showing a hint of brown skin I know feels so good.
I need to focus on the banister. Not his skin. Not him.