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)
My insides tug again and I want to say something just as complimentary that tells her I feel the same, but our waitress comes over with our first course.
“Oh this is different. It looks…incredible,” she says, staring at the plate. “When you said picnic, I thought we’d be having M&S sandwiches and a bit of Sandra’s Bakewell tart.”
“Not quite,” I say. “The friend I told you about, with the place in Cambridge? Well, I borrowed his chef for the night.”
Her eyes widen. “Gosh, I suppose it pays to know people.”
“Unfortunately it means you don’t get input on my nutritional needs tonight.”
She laughs. “Phew. I get a night off. What a blessing.”
“What’s that about?” I ask her. “The food stuff? You harbor some desire to be a nutritionist or something?”
“No, I never thought about that actually.” She pauses. “I just like people to take care of themselves. And I like it when I can help.”
Of course she’s not being bossy or provocative, like a stranger to her commentary might think. She’s trying to help people make the best choices for themselves.
“Do people know how sweet you are, Kate?”
“Tell that to a woman who came in a couple of months ago, who ordered the chicken on my recommendation but failed to tell me she was allergic to peanuts. She had to get stretchered out of the pub.”
“Jesus.”
“Good intentions don’t matter if you kill someone.”
“She died?” I ask, trying to disguise my shock.
“No, she was fine. Turns out it was just a mild attack. She thought she’d grown out of her peanut allergy and she used the Golden Hare to test out her theory.”
“Wow. Maybe ‘nice’ isn’t the word I’d use for you anymore. More…potential murderess.”
She laughs. “I can add that to my LinkedIn profile. What about you? Ever tried to murder anyone? I bet you’re so rich, you could have someone killed if you wanted to.”
Is that the kind of man she thinks I am? “I’ve never found a price list, but maybe I am. I can honestly say I’ve never tried to murder anyone or have anyone murdered on my behalf. I’m not sure I’ve ever even been in a fight before.”
“What about enemies? You must have made plenty in your time.”
“You think? Because I’m an asshole?” I’m getting whiplash from this girl.
“No, silly,” she says, and like a chump, the pull inside me grows stronger. “Because you’re powerful and rich and stuff. Don’t people like you make enemies?”
People like me? The question takes me by surprise. She sees herself as someone inherently different from me, but I’m sitting here thinking how similar we are. “Maybe?” I say. “But it’s never been my aim to make money at other people’s expense. I might be naïve, but…” I trail off. I’m not sure what she’s trying to get at. “I can be an asshole,” I confess. “I’m sure I’ve pissed people off. But I don’t deliberately try to hurt people or take something unwillingly given.”
She starts to speak but stops herself, then reaches for my hand across the table. “I feel bad,” she says. “I wasn’t trying to say you’re an asshole. I wouldn’t be having dinner with you if I thought that.”
I shake my head. “That’s okay. I’m sure people have thought worse of me.”
“One of the disadvantages of spending all my time at Crompton is that I tend to assume the world out there is worse than it is. I feel safe when I’m in this bubble. Nothing can go wrong—”
I pull my hand from hers and scratch the back of my head. “Until I arrived. Right?” This evening was going south quickly.
She looks me in the eyes, her expression serious. “This is terrible. I’m saying the wrong things all the time. I’m the arsehole, and if I’m not careful, we’re going to be enemies by the end of the night.” She stands, and I think she’s about to run out when she says, “We’re going to start again.”
“Okay?” I’m confused, but she’s right—tonight took a wrong turn and I’d like to get back on track.
She rolls her shoulders back, shakes out her hands and takes a deep breath before sitting down opposite me again. “I’m Kate Saunders. I’m twenty-seven and I think you’re completely attractive.”
I can’t help but laugh. She smiles and I feel like a teenager, like I did earlier in the evening—like I always do when I’m around her.
I start to speak but she leans in and places her index fingers across my lips. “And not just because you’ve got a pretty face and an amazing bod. I like that you’re a man of your word. That you care about the people of Crompton. You’re buying up properties to rent out to those of us displaced by the renovations; you’re investing in retraining people. You’re a good man, Vincent Cove, and I do know that, despite practically accusing you of having mafia connections or whatever I was going on about.”