Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
I lift up on my tiptoes. Warren shakes his head but smiles as he leans down to kiss me. "And you're not a douche canoe or dickhead."
"What about dipshit?"
I snort a laugh. "Are you making a joke again, Warren?"
"Not sure what I'm fucking doing anymore." He runs a hand down his face. I’m sure the last few days have been a lot for him. He’s used to being in control, barking orders and having everyone follow them. And then there’s me.
"What you're doing is making your wife very happy." I play with the buttons on his shirt.
"You're not crying."
"I am not crying," I agree.
"What am I going to do with you, little mouse?" I press myself against him.
"Lots of dirty things, I hope." I smirk. "You know, I hear if you don't consummate your marriage, you're not really married."
"Little mouse," Warren warns, wrapping an arm around me. He lifts me off my feet.
"Sir." Someone clears their throat. I peek over Warren's shoulder to see one of his men behind him. Warren puts me back on my feet before turning to face the man, completely blocking my view. “There is an issue and a call.”
“Wait outside my office,” he tells him. I hear the man’s steps retreat before Warren turns back to face me.
“You could have introduced me.”
“Did you want me to?”
I shrug. “You don’t think I should know some of the people who are always coming and going from here? At least the ones I see on the regular?” Warren is quiet, and I know he’s contemplating this. I bet he's going over all kinds of different things in that head of his. “So that I’m comfortable with them. Maybe even know their names in case I ever need something.”
“I see your point, little mouse.”
“Good, now go and do whatever it is you do. Murder and mayhem.”
“Murder and mayhem?” Warren gives me a half smile.
“You’re probably not big on mayhem, but do whatever it is you do. Maybe play with those stocks of ours.”
“And what will my wife be doing?”
“As much as I want to play with all the goodies you got me—thank you, by the way”—I strum my fingers on his chest, enjoying that touching him is so natural now—“I really want to call Marks, and I should go see my parents.”
“You haven’t had lunch.”
“Do you know everything I do? I could have snuck a snack.”
“You need more than a snack.”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes dramatically. “I’ll eat something and put on sunscreen.”
“Good girl,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “We’ll have dinner together.”
“I shall meet you in the dining room at seven, sir.”
“Six.”
“Fine,” I sigh. “You win this one. I can meet you at six.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m going now.” I walk backwards away from him. “Don’t track blood into the house.”
“Be good, little mouse.”
“I make no promises.” I spin around, taking off. I’ll grab a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When I enter the kitchen, I see food already laid out on the island. There are several small sandwiches, each accompanied by freshly cut fruit and vegetables.
“Mrs. Marino,” Chef Marcello greets me. “I set food out.”
“This isn’t only for me, right?” I would not put it past Warren to have ordered such a big spread, but it would be a waste.
“When a lot of the family is coming and going, I keep a variety of things out for everyone.”
“Thank you.” I grab a plate. “And can you call me Tova?” As much as I do love hearing my new last name, I don’t want things to be so formal. And if I’m fully honest, I want everyone to like me and not just tolerate me.
“I can.” He gives me a soft smile. “I do have a few things to go over with you.”
“Me?” I use my free hand to point a finger at myself while I continue to lift up the cute little finger sandwich to my mouth.
“Yes, you.” He grabs a binder off the counter before coming around the kitchen island to show it to me. “You need to set meals and such for the coming week.”
“I do?”
“You are the lady of the house now.”
“Am I?” I laugh. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me a lady before.”
Marcello flips open the binder to show me his recipes and ideas. It all appears wonderful to me. I'm not a chef, but based on his Pop-Tarts, I'm going to trust what he has laid out, and I tell him as much before I slip out the back to call Marks.
"Are you in trouble?" Marks says as a way of greeting when she picks up my call.
"Hello to you too," I say dryly.
"What? He could tie you to a chair and torture you."
"I really don't see that happening unless it's him tying me to the bed."