Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
She nodded appreciatively. “Yes.”
“Meg! You’re not helping.”
“What did you think I was going to say?” She picked up what looked like a small slice of ham and cheese between two biscuits.
I squinted, bending so I was closer to the screen. “Is that… a Lunchable?”
“Yes. Yes, it is.” She moved it closer to the camera. “I am an adult, and if I want to eat a Lunchable for dinner, that’s what I’m going to do.”
That was fair.
“I wish I had a Lunchable,” I muttered.
“Go and buy one. That’s the beauty of being an adult.”
Meh. That meant putting on trousers.
“I’ll grab one tomorrow when I go out.” I stretched my leg out on the sofa and propped my head up on my hand. “Seriously, what do I do here? Of course I’d love to pick his brains—how often does a writer actually get to question a legitimate aristocrat for novel research?—but on the other hand, I’m pretty sure I’ve already written the story of two people who have no strings sex and I know how that ends.”
Meg chewed, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully. “What’s more important? Your dignity or your book research?”
“That seems like a trick question.”
“It’s a testament to your craft that you’re willing to sacrifice your dignity to find out if The Queen wipes her own arse or not.”
“I think you’re overselling it. Max probably doesn’t have any info on Her Majesty’s buttocks.” I paused. “Although now I am interested, and I hate that you brought it up.”
“You’re welcome.” She licked her fingers. “That was a good Lunchable.”
“You have been absolutely no help to me whatsoever, do you know that?”
“Darling, I don’t know what you want me to tell you. Like I’ve already told you, I would absolutely shag the duke if I were you.”
“You went a little Joanna Lumley there.”
“That’s Dame Joanna Lumley to you, peasant.” She adjusted her glasses and peered intently at the camera. AKA, me.
I inclined my head. “Understood.”
“Thank you for your deference to my queen,” she replied. “Now, it’s really quite simple. You shag the man senseless and have one hell of a writing retreat and get material for books upon books, or you sit there in your very big lodge, feeling sorry for yourself, pining after a bit of cock.”
That was quite the statement.
“All right. Well, we’re done here,” I said, reaching forwards.
“Ellie May Aarons, don’t you hang up on me.”
“Goodnight, Meg. Love you.” I shut the lid of the laptop to her shouting my name and rolled onto my back.
That entire conversation was my fault.
I knew what she was going to tell me, let’s be honest. That was why I’d called her.
I was seriously considering taking Max up on his offer.
What? It wasn’t like I was getting it anywhere else, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I was attracted to him, and he’d admitted that he was to me, and if it didn’t work in the bedroom, then there was no harm done.
Right?
My phone pinged from the table in front of me, and I reached for it.
UNKNOWN: What are you doing tomorrow?
ME: I’m not giving you my bank details.
That’s what an unknown number was, right?
UNKNOWN: I already have them.
ME: Well, RIP my savings account.
UNKNOWN: I’m not sure what worries me more—that you’re writing off your savings or aren’t panicking at all.
ME: Scammers aren’t interested in my daily schedule, Max.
ME: At least I’m hoping this is Max. If not, it’s rather awkward.
UNKNOWN: It’s Max.
ME: How do I know? Can you prove it? Preferably not with my bank details.
UNKNOWN/Max: Your cat likes to sleep in my goat barn.
That was fair. I wasn’t sure anyone else would be privy to that little nugget of information.
ME: All right. Max. What do you want?
Max: What it says on the tin. What are you doing tomorrow?
ME: Probably staring at a blank page on my laptop and debating my life choices. Why?
Max: I was going to ask you if you’d like to have dinner, but that seems far more enthralling.
ME: Have dinner? With YOU? Like a date?
Max: No, Ellie. Not a date. A research trip.
ME: Oh, boy. Romance me.
Max: You haven’t responded to my proposal, so I thought I might show you what I can offer you.
ME: You’re starting to sound like a supermarket.
Max: Why? Do I get an orgasm free if I buy dinner?
ME: Why don’t you ask your right palm and see what it says?
Max: If you bought dinner, I’d give you one for free.
ME: I’ll buy dinner for myself. I’m a cheapskate.
Max: Luckily for you, I’m not.
ME: Where are you suggesting we go? Somewhere a duke would take a curvy blonde girl he’s trying to seduce? Am I going to get anything other than good food out of this?
Max: Some women would be satisfied with the good food.
ME: Sadly, I’m not like most women. Although I am a fan of good food.