Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 78(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 78(@200wpm)___ 62(@250wpm)___ 52(@300wpm)
Mom doesn’t even look my way. “Hmm?”
“Oliver Abbot. We kissed.”
Again, she doesn’t stop painting. “Oh, yeah? He seems nice.”
I round the small kitchen counter and stand beside her, propping my hands on my hips. “Mom, he’s trying to kick us off our own property so they can build resorts we can’t even afford. I’m supposed to show him why we can’t have an overflowing number of tourists all year long because they might destroy the island.” With a sigh, I scrub my hands across my face. “And the next thing I know, I’m shoving my tongue down his throat.”
Mom puts the brush down and wipes her hands on her apron. She finally looks at me and shakes her head. “Oli, that wasn’t an invitation for details. Jesus.”
“Okay, sorry, but you know what I mean. I’m so disappointed in myself.”
“Why?”
“I just told you.”
Mom gets up and stretches her back. “First of all, he’s here to negotiate, so that’s what we’re going to do. We will negotiate. Second, I didn’t miss the way he was looking at you. And the way he kept your underwear.” She raises one delicate brow. “Was there some kind of potion in your panties that he sniffed?”
My mouth hangs open. “Mom!”
Mom bursts out laughing. “But seriously. I heard his brother is the evil one, so I guess let’s consider ourselves lucky Oliver is the one who’s here right now.”
“It’s too early to tell. He’s only been here for two days.”
“And yet, you already shoved your tongue down his throat.”
“Jesus Christ, Mom.”
“Those were your exact words, Oli. Not mine.”
She takes off her apron and walks toward the dining table but stops halfway to cast me a questioning glance over her shoulder. “You know, I find it interesting that you’ve never shown any interest in other men like this.”
“I’ve had a couple of boyfriends.”
“Yet that one boy had to wait for two years before you said yes to a coffee date.” Mom turns around, a smile playing on her lips. “Admit it, Oli. This one’s different. Oliver is different. His vibe and the energy around him tell me so.”
I roll my eyes so hard I can almost see my brain. “He could be a serial killer for all we know. I don’t even know his middle name or favorite color.”
“You have seven days to get to know each other, more if he decides to stay longer.”
The reminder that he can leave anytime makes something heavy settle in my stomach. “What if he’s just using me to get what he wants?”
“Did he make the first move?”
I press my palms to my cheeks and make a face. “I did. I fell on his lap, didn’t move, and kissed him first.” The ground can swallow me whole.
Mom walks back to me and presses her lips on my temple. “You’ve always been a great judge of character, Oli. You’ll know when he’s using you or he feels the same way you do.”
I pace our small kitchen, grabbing my hair in clumps. Frustration eats at me. “How can I be attracted to him since the first time I saw him? It doesn’t make sense, and I always thought I wasn’t the type to swoon over hot guys.”
She pours the can of tomato sauce on the pan and smiles softly at me. “The heart wants what it wants, Ol. I mean, I knew I was going to marry your dad when I saw him at the club.”
“You hated him on sight.”
Mom lifts one shoulder. “Same difference.” She points the wooden spoon at me. “Invite Oliver for dinner tomorrow. I want to take a closer look at this man who’s about to turn your world upside down.”
3
OLIVER
“Oliver, come help us.”
Alice Lang, Olivia’s mom, calls out to me just as I’m about to sit in the living room. I immediately stand and fix my crisp black shirt. To say I have nothing appropriate to wear for just about anything is an understatement.
All I have are long-sleeved shirts, dress pants, and dress shoes. Oh and the jacket, of course. Knowing I’d be staying in the finished wing of the resort, I packed my suitcase with nothing but business in mind, so these were all I had.
When Olivia told me about her mom’s dinner invitation, my initial thought was I needed to impress her and her eight-year-old sister, Samantha. I have no idea why. I’ve never cared much for the opinion of others, but now I do apparently.
I stand beside Alice and take the apron she hands to me. It’s too small, and I can’t even tie it behind me. Then, she slides the chopping board with the onion and knife, along with a bowl with whole chicken in it.
“Dice these three onions,” she tells me, “and blanch the chicken.”
She may as well speak another language. I have never held a kitchen knife in my life, cooked anything except coffee (if that even counts), and put any effort into my meal. I have a personal chef, or if he’s not around, I just have my meals delivered.