Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Can I get that cocktail now?” I purr.
“What’s your pleasure? I’ve got a full bar.”
As I place my order for a martini, Max gently slides me off him, and as I curl up on his couch, he strides across his fancy condo and into his kitchen. Once there, he throws away his condom and washes his hands. And then, much to my delight, he expertly makes us a couple of martinis, while I gawk at his gorgeous, naked frame.
His task completed, Max returns to the couch with two drinks and a bowl of salty snacks, and we sit and drink, chat and nibble while our naked bodies recharge. To my surprise, our conversation quickly veers from superficial, flirty topics, to ones that feel far more real and meaningful. I don’t tell him about Ripley; there’s no need to do that. But I do wind up telling him about my mother, and he expresses what feels like genuine sympathy.
At Max’s urging, I also tell him a bit about my career as a private chef, which leads to me telling him about the culinary school I attended in Paris after college, which then leads me to telling him about the many places I’ve traveled while floating in the breeze from job to job.
After a while, I turn things around and ask Max some questions about himself, at which point I learn Max went to Stanford on a water polo scholarship and stayed to attend law school after that. When it came time to pick a law firm after graduation, Max chose one in his hometown rather than in Silicon Valley, like so many of his classmates from Stanford, because he figured the firm where he now works would be the surest path to achieving his top career goal: eventually landing an in-house legal position for some tech genius guru from Seattle.
At my prompting, Max tells me a bit about his chosen field of practice—patent law—and although he answers my questions, he doesn’t go on and on about himself or his achievements, though I’m sure he’s got plenty to dazzle me with. On the contrary, Max deftly turns the conversation back to me after only a short amount of time.
“Are you planning to stay in Seattle for the foreseeable future?” he asks. “Or is another round of globetrotting in your near future, Miss World Traveler?”
“I’m home to stay,” I reply. “My father lives here. And now that I’ve been home for a while, I’ve realized it’s time for me to settle down and spend quality time with my father and best friends. I’m ready for a whole new chapter in my life. A much more stable one, where I prioritize my personal relationships and try to build an actual, steady career, rather than living paycheck to paycheck, like I always have.” Of course, taking care of Ripley and making sure she’s thriving and that her various health concerns are properly addressed is the top reason I’ve decided to put down roots in Seattle. But that’s a conversation I don’t care to have with a one-night stand.
Max considers that. “Who are your target clients? Extremely wealthy people only, or do normal people hire private chefs, too?”
“Wealthy people are my target clients. Normal people always want you to work for the same price as it’d cost them to order from an online meal service, and that’s not a price point I can do. Wealthy people, on the other hand, are usually clueless about how much things should cost. If something isn’t crazy-expensive, they don’t want it. If you land the right rich client, you can make three times the money for the same amount of work you’d put in for a normal person.” I motion to Max’s crumpled designer suit on the floor behind his couch. “I’m sure that suit cost three times what you could have paid for a perfectly attractive suit without the designer label sewn into it.”
Max shrugs. “I like Armani.”
“Exactly my point. I want to be the Armani of private chefs, so people don’t think twice about paying a ridiculous price for me, instead of getting someone cheaper.”
Max smiles and runs his palm across my naked thigh. “You want to work smarter, not harder.”
“Exactly. So far, it’s easier said than done. I’m a shit show when it comes to marketing and networking. The good news is my actual cooking skills are fantastic, so at least I’ve got that going for me.”
Max runs his palm up my thigh again, giving me full-body tingles. “I have full faith in you, Marnie.”
“Thank you, Maximillian.”
He pauses briefly. Bites his lower lip. Finally, he says, “I bet some of the partners at my firm would hire you. They’re all making more money than they know what to do with. They’ve all got closets full of Armani suits, not just a handful, like me. Maybe I could get you hired to cater one of their monthly dinners, so you could dazzle them and then pass out your cards.”