Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. She did try and drown you last night.”
I wince as a phantom pain shoots through my balls. “She was trying to save me.”
Hans snorts. “As if I couldn’t do my job.”
“How was that magazine, by the way? Good? You’ll have to share it with me sometime.”
He could flip me the bird, but he’s rather secure in his masculinity. Also, he answers me in something that I think is Danish and grins at me. Lord, he can be unsettling sometimes, but I just find it amusing now. “Have a good night off, Hans.”
“I’ll keep my ear peeled for disaster.”
“You do that.”
“Boss?” Hans calls out.
I stop in the doorway. I hate when he calls me that. I slowly pivot around. He flashes me two thumbs up, which also happens to be an apple and some apple peel kind of thumbs up because he’s still holding onto them. “It was great. I’ll lend it to you sometime if you’re interested.”
The guy happens to have an obsession with all things written, and he loves photos, so I guess that extends to magazines. I didn’t peg him as a fashion lover, and he surprised me yet again last night when he whipped that baby out. It was something from Europe, all thick and blocky and huge.
When I got to the dining room, I noticed that the dining room table had been set for two, and Everleigh was seated in the same chair she occupied last night when she drove the hardest bargain. Actually, I think the hardest bargain was her knee in my nads, but we’ll leave that up for debate. She’s sitting there, wearing a black flowy blouse and black leggings. Her hair is down, and it is like finely spun gold. She’s so angelic that my heart nearly buckles in my chest, and my step hitches and falters. Lucky for me, she doesn’t look up until I’ve recovered and hopefully composed myself into less of a creepy staredown kind of guy.
Her smile is slow, but it’s soft and beautiful and real. I’m not used to having a standing dinner date with anyone, but damn it, I could get used to doing this. I could get used to Everleigh’s gorgeous summer blue eyes, her lovely, sweet face with the blush in her cheeks, and her coral lips parting around a small sigh as I sat down. Her scent of honey and apricots was even apparent over dinner unless the chef somehow decided to bring out dessert first.
Nope. When I lift the dome off my plate, it reveals a huge pork chop, a baked potato with all the trimmings, and a stack of asparagus spears. I guess we didn’t finish that off last night. My chef is a good man. He’s around fifty, and he’s originally from France. He had a great career over here until he didn’t. There was a bit of a mishap at the restaurant where he was working that involved an actual swath of beard hairs that he told me weren’t his, even though he has a four-foot-long or so beard. I was looking for someone after I bought the house, and he was looking for work, so when he applied and after tasting a cheesecake he cooked for me as a sample, I hired him on the spot.
So what if I have to pick out the occasional beard hair?
Like every other day.
I can handle that. The guy cooks like a demon. Not that I have ever found any hair so far.
Everleigh was waiting for me, and she lifted the dome on her plate at the same time. “It feels so medieval, doing this. I know it’s to keep the food warm, but it’s kind of weird. And I guess kind of awesome.”
I set the metal dome aside and pick up my knife, but just like last night, my muscles are cramped, and my shoulder is screaming a big hell no. I didn’t do my exercises this morning because I was busy answering email after email, and I’m paying the price now.
I pick at the potato while Everleigh digs into the huge pork chop. It’s a bone-in beast, and it takes up more than half of the huge plate. She cuts it all into small pieces and then wordlessly, without warning, slides her plate across to me. She stabs my pork chop with her fork and lifts it up before dumping the cut-up meat onto my plate with her finger.
My god, I hate that after one day, she can tell when I’m in serious need of assistance because my arm is being an asshole. It’s so fucking embarrassing. I didn’t even have to say anything. I feel a little bit wrecked by it, but before I can start stewing in self-pity and hurt pride because who the hell can’t cut his own meat, Everleigh points down at her lap and makes a whistling sound as she does it.