Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I just hope it’s not too late to turn this back around. I worked much better when I thought he was an asshole and not Prince Charming. Because heaven knows I’m in no position to profess my sins to him.
Apparently, my stomach is, though. It growls, bringing a smile to his face. And that makes me smile because I’m a fool for him. Or maybe this is a mood induced by a lack of food? A girl can only hope. Otherwise, three days in and I’ve lost at my own game.
“The car’s here,” he says, glancing down at the curb that has a million steps between me and relief from these painful shoes. He must sense my hesitation even now as I lowered the temperature of my anger. “The shoes?”
“Yeah. I think I’ll take them off.”
“It’s New York.” His tone turns firm. “You’re not walking on these streets without shoes. I’ll carry you.” Although I shouldn’t find his uptight bossy side so attractive, even that is under the new circumstances of me being mushy-hearted for this man and the whole meatball of emotions that comes with that.
“You can’t. I don’t want you to injure your arm.” Eyeing it, I gently tap the hard cast. “More than it is. I’ll just walk. I’ll be fine. I’m sure you have a first-aid kit packed with anything I could possibly need to bandage the blisters later.”
Standing two steps down from me, he bends before me. “No blisters.” Looking up at me, he says, “Come on. It’s only a few steps.”
“Come on, as in get on your shoul—” I’m swooped over his shoulder before I can finish the question. I laugh from the playful gesture as I dangle over this giant of a man using one hand to make sure my ass isn’t exposed to all of Manhattan. This might be the only time I’ve been grateful to be a smaller package of a person. But do I love being Warner-handled like this? Yes. Will I not give him a hard time anyway? No. I’m definitely giving him a hard time. I slap his ass with my clutch and laugh. “You’re the worst, you know that, Hotshot?”
Chuckling, he says, “I know that, Sass.”
Warner covers the remaining ten thousand steps with ease and even dashes a bit to show off at the end. Setting me down on the sidewalk beside the waiting black Town Car, he reaches to hold my face, staring into my eyes and stroking my cheek with the pad of his thumb like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen. He has my head swimming in the feels, and my heart, being the traitor it is, beats just for him.
On the positive, if he has five million to donate to The Met, he has a lot more to splash around the city. So getting him to toss a few mil—five, to be precise—my way might not be such an impossibility. All I need to do is convince him of that.
The negative, I’m head over heels for this man. I’m so screwed. Who knew I’d be the type to fall for the villain of my story? Not me. I’m just as surprised as if I were the reader.
He holds the door open as I slip inside. Seems he’s already given directions to the driver, and although I love being independent, it’s nice to have little things taken care of sometimes. With him, they are. When he gets in and closes the door, he angles toward me. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re leaning against the car and tapping our hot dogs together. “Cheers,” I say, and then take a bite. The hot dog never stood a chance against him. He finishes half in one bite. I take another bite, enjoying the clear skies, the bustle of people around us, and the company of one formerly intolerable bachelor. Though bachelor is subjective when it comes to us. I bump up against him, grinning like a girl in love because yeah, it’s nice to feel free to be who I am around him. Finally. I ask, “How’d you know I liked hot dogs?”
“We live in the city. I took a wild guess.”
“It was a good guess.”
He finishes his food and then wraps his arm around my shoulders. “So what do you want to do next?”
“Considering I’m wearing these shoes, curling up on the couch with my big guy, gelato, and a movie sounds like a great way to spend the rest of the night.”
“Big guy.” He chuckles. “What movie did you have in mind?”
“I haven’t seen Ocean’s 11 in years.”
“I’m sensing a pattern.”
I take another too big of a bite to chew properly because I’m not ready to address that pattern. I don’t know what the plan is at this point, much less a pattern. I do know that when I look at Warner, he’s not as bad as I thought he was, as I wished he was when I met him. Things just got a whole lot more complicated.