Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
I nod slowly, my brain mulling her offer, but my body’s already made its decision.
My body, which knows absolutely nothing about Charlotte is “boring.”
“How long are we talking?” I ask.
“Six weeks? Two months? Long enough that your PR team decides you’re not a problem anymore and moves on?”
“That’s a lot of investment on your part,” I say. “Seems kind of unfair. A couple of months of work for me in exchange for one night for you.”
Her smile turns sharp. “But it will be one hell of a night. His wife-to-be was also a friend. My protégée, actually. I want to rub her nose in my superior happiness, too. Make it clear she didn’t take anything I wasn’t done with a long time ago.” She shrugs. “You’re significantly better looking than Theodore. Probably smarter, too, which I know will really chap his ass, so…”
“You think I’m smart?” I ask, stepping closer.
Her cheeks flush. “You know you’re smart.”
“Yeah, but a lot of women don’t notice,” I say. “I like that you do. And I like that you know Aristotle.”
“Aristotle was a very smart man,” she whispers, tipping her lips closer to mine.
Suddenly, the air in the tiny room feels too warm. Charlotte’s looking at me like she’s thinking about having her way with me up against the washing machine, and every rational part of my brain is screaming that this is a terrible idea—pretending to be this woman’s lover is a good way to keep pining for her for a damned long time.
But the rest of me?
The rest of me is already imagining how much fun we could have during those “boring” weekends, with nothing to do but grab brunch, wander through the park, and fuck each other senseless in that big sexy garden in her backyard. It’s even bigger than Parker’s, with a lot more room between the eggplant and the rhubarb…
Surely, she’ll see we’re much better off making that part of our “pretend” the real deal. Right?
“Okay, then, sounds good,” I say, my voice huskier than it was before. “When do we start?”
She shrugs again, a breezy lift of her bare shoulder. “I don’t know. I mean, tonight could work. Think about it, and let me know. I’ll be on the dance floor.”
She’s halfway out the door when I call after her. “Charlotte.”
She turns, her brows lifted.
“How far do you want this to go?” I ask. “Are we holding hands in public and calling it good? Or are we really selling it?”
She studies me for a beat, that dangerous smile from our night in the hot tub spreading across her face. “Guess we’ll find out.”
The door clicks shut behind her, and I’m left standing in her laundry room, blood pumping faster, wondering what the hell I just signed up for.