Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
It’s… disconcerting.
Finally, just after lunch, I give in to the urge I’ve had all day. Not to jerk off at the memory of her beneath me on that table, but rather to text Raven.
I’ll pick you up at 6:30.
I will meet you there, she texts back.
Hesitating, I temper my response. It feels like when she left me at the fundraiser. I can sense her doubts in the few words and don’t want to push too hard, too fast.
So I concede, restraining myself. Okay. 7PM, A Taste of Bangkok.
It’s one of the best Thai restaurants in the state and notoriously difficult to get a reservation for.
Raven sends back a simple Thank you.
With that taken care of, I go back to work. Mostly, I decide to use these few hours to figure out how to use my power and influence to check on Faulkner and his bullshit. He hasn’t called or sent any more texts, but I know he’s up to something. It’s his way.
I start with a bit of online snooping. It’s amazing what people post these days. You can find out more about a person, a company, and possible situations from their Instagrams than their business websites. Mix that with some society page gossip and pictures and you have a good idea of who’s having private dinners with whom.
But I need more, so I send a message to Austin, trusting that he’ll keep my inquiry between us.
What’s the latest on Faulkner?
While I wait, I try to focus on the stacks of work on my desk. But when my phone pings, I virtually lunge for it before the sound finishes to see what he answers.
Did you fuck Raven at the Faulkner thing? You really know how to blow shit up, huh? Word is, she’s getting the polite decline everywhere, courtesy of Evan himself.
Fuck. That’s exactly what I was afraid of.
He messaged me. Said he ‘dealt with it’. Guess that’s what he meant.
I don’t answer his question about whether Raven and I had sex. By the sound of it, he already knows the answer.
Now what?
That’s the question, isn’t it? I set this whole thing into motion, and now, I unexpectedly care about the collateral damage I’ve caused. I’m having dinner with her tonight.
It’s an answer that’s more than the sum of its parts. With the few words, Austin now knows that Raven is more than a revenge fuck. He can tell that she means something to me. What that is, I’m not entirely sure just yet.
He sends back a GIF of Coyote trying to light an entire bundle of dynamite on fire with his last match. It feels fairly accurate to what I’m doing.
I don’t get any more work done. I spend the next couple of hours sitting and ruminating on ways this can play out. In the end, I know my next move.
I arrive to the restaurant ten minutes early, my driver catching a lucky break in traffic, and take a seat at the intimately-lit table. And once again, I’m lost in thoughts of her and why the hell I can’t stop thinking about her.
The sound of heels clicking across the parquet tile floor brings me out of my reverie as a waitress walks up to my table, her smile bright and welcoming. "Would you like something to drink while you wait, sir?" she asks, her pen poised over her notepad.
"Bourbon, neat.”
The waitress says something, but I don’t hear a damn word, because at that moment, I see her. Raven.
The form-fitting black dress hugs her curves in the most tempting of ways, her hair cascading down her back in shiny waves to match with the rest of her outfit. She strides toward me, carrying herself with an air of confidence as a soft smile plays at her glossy lips.
I stand to greet her, desperately wanting to wrap my arms around her, needing to kiss her, and seriously considering pushing her back to the closest surface to slam balls-deep into her. I settle for pulling her chair out for her.
“Raven, you look beautiful,” I say quietly.
Her smile grows, but as her green eyes meet mine, I see something that makes me question how this night will go.
She’s nervous. It’s the same look that I saw before the fundraiser, where she’s attempting to be cool, calm, and collected. But she’s clearly feeling what I’m feeling, uncertainty, and is only holding things together through guts and brains.
As she takes her seat, she thanks me and then turns her attention to the waitress.
“Would you like a moment or do you know what you’d like to drink?”
“A glass of the Calafuria Rose,” Raven answers quickly after scanning the menu.
As soon as the waitress walks away, I look at Raven and, in an attempt to quiet her nerves, offer her what I should have when I first met her.