Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Graham was friendly but ultra-reserved—too controlled at times, too calculating. On the other hand, he could also be playful, charming, and attentive. The juxtaposition of hardass businessman and almost-cuddly bear made me more curious about him than ever.
He invited me to stay the night to avoid the Tube after hours and gave me a spare toothbrush. In the morning, he made me coffee and offered breakfast and a ride to the station. Then he kissed me in his foyer till our lips were swollen.
I had to admit that his attention was intoxicating. It would have been easy to get used to being in his orbit, but like a true gentleman, Graham made no promises.
I knew there was a chance he’d call this off any day now, thank me for my services, and wish me a nice life before I completed the report with a trip to Deverley per the contract. Which meant that if I wanted to learn anything new about him, I was going to have to up my game. He didn’t care about trivia or history, so…what, besides sex, got his motor running?
“Down, boy.” I pushed at his chest. “My ass needs a break, and my stomach needs food. Do you feel like pizza or…Indian takeaway?”
“Are you still considering that job?” Graham huffed imperiously.
I plucked another orange wedge from his fingers and shrugged. “I want to see how my interview with Cromwell and Mayhorn goes first.”
“Cromwell and Mayhorn?”
“They’re barristers, I think. I don’t know the difference between a barrister and a lawyer in the UK, but they’re a newish firm and they need someone to answer phones. I can do that. The best part is that they only want someone three days a week, so I’d have time for weekend exploring. If I get it. So…pizza?”
“Um, all right.” He reached for the iPad on his marble kitchen island and pulled up a tab for a local pizzeria.
I plastered my chest to his biceps and read over his shoulder. “Looks delish.”
Graham grunted in agreement. “Do you have a proper suit?”
“You saw my suit.” I pointed at a meat lover’s selection. “How about that one?”
“You’ll need a proper one.”
“I am definitely a proper meat lover,” I joked, waggling my brows lasciviously.
He smacked my ass playfully. “A proper suit, you cheeky arse.”
I chuckled. “My suit is fine. Concentrate on pizza toppings. Do you like onions?”
“Yes, but not on pizza.”
Okay, that was new info. “How about anchovies?”
“Absolutely not.”
I snorted. “I sense strong feelings about tiny, salty fish. What did anchovies ever do to you?”
“They’re”—Graham wrinkled his nose—“mingy.”
“Mingy? What does that mean?”
“Mank.”
“Mank?” I hooted. “I’m going to guess that’s nasty.”
“Aye, disgusting. Put ’em on yer pizza, no my-n.” He pointed at the meat lovers and gave a thumbs-up, continuing in his usual refined manner, “That’ll do. Do you want a salad too?”
I stared at him slack-jawed. “Your accent—what just happened there? It’s like you’re from London but not really.”
“Hmph. I’m not from London at all. I’ll take that as a yes to the salads,” Graham replied in his usual aristocratic tone, clicking a few keys and pushing the iPad away. “Twenty minutes. Would you care for wine or a lager?”
“Uh…wine, please.”
I watched him pull a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the wine refrigerator, his muscles bunching and flexing as he uncorked it. He slid a glass toward me, flashing a lopsided grin that made me think he could read my mind. I perched on a stool and tried to remember his bio, but came up blank.
I’d had so many balls in the air when I first made this move that I’d only given it a passing glance. If I’d done my homework, I would have recognized Graham in Las Vegas, and there was no way I’d be here right now. That was a sobering thought.
He poured himself a glass and clinked it against mine, his eyes twinkling with humor. “Why are you looking at me like I’ve grown a second head?”
“I’m not, I just—where are you from?”
“A very small village in the north, outside of Sunderland.”
“The accent is a little thicker there, eh?”
He snickered. “You might say that.”
“Interesting. Can you give me an example?”
“Example? O-key. What ye uptee the neet?”
“Neet is night?” I guessed.
“Aye. What are you doing tonight?” he translated.
“Ha, that’s cool. Gimme more.” I wiggled my fingers meaningfully and sipped my Pinot.
Graham rolled his eyes but gamely spent the next ten minutes regaling me with offhand phrases and colloquial pronunciations. It was a hoot.
“Town” was toon, “canny” was nice, “divvy” was idiot, “nee” was no, “aye” was yes, and “wey aye” was a strong yes. “Haddaway man!” roughly meant “You must be joking,” and “gannin yem” meant “going home.”
My monster grin spread like wildfire across my cheeks. His hard edges visibly softened as he explained intonations and when you might use certain phrases. Honestly, he looked like a completely different man. I could picture this Graham straddling a stool at a pub, watching soccer—excuse me, football—with his mates. No fancy suits, no high-rise office building, no luxury town house or private driver.