Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“I prefer to dedicate myself to one cause at a time.”
“Except when it comes to women,” Matt retorts somewhat under his breath.
I can’t believe that Eve bloody well hung up on me! That she beat me to it, at least. The corner of my mouth twitches reluctantly, because the woman delights in getting a rise out of me. It’s basically overkill. If she cared to tip her gaze south, she’d realize I’ve been walking around half-cocked since she moved in.
“Speaking of women,” Fin says, leaning over the arm of his chair. “That wasn’t a work call, because that smile you’re fighting . . .” He circles a finger as though I don’t know where a smile belongs. “It looks obscene.”
“Don’t be asinine.” I put my phone down next to my knife, not sure which I’ll end up reaching for first. Sometimes it’s hard to believe Fin is in charge of investor liaisons, given he so often brings out the worst in me. He spends much of his time soothing the brows of the überwealthy and generally being affable. This niche he’s carved out for himself as a lovable rogue makes him popular with our stakeholders, who’ll forgive him (and consequently the company) of almost anything.
He’s good for business, popular with people in general, women especially, and a darling of the gossip columns. I find myself frowning as I anticipate Eve taking an inevitable shine to him. This is not like me. I’m not jealous of that peacock. But in the short time I’ve been living with Eve, my mood has turned . . . unpredictable. Fucking unstable. And there’s only one person to blame.
Evelyn Hadley Fairfax, according to her passport. She and her attitude drive me to utter distraction. What’s more, I seem to have reverted to my teenage masturbation schedule. As in, morning, noon, and night. Or maybe morning, early evening, and midnight . . . or whenever she’s done with her torment for the day.
“Ah. There it is. The Brit got back his stiff upper lip.”
“Fin?” I inquire pleasantly.
“Yeah?”
“Kindly fuck off.”
Tonight is important, and I arranged the dinner without advance warning for all parties concerned. I haven’t mentioned Eve to my friends, mainly to avoid their plague of niggling comments. I also kept my plans from Eve. Giving her any kind of notice risked resulting in her arriving at the table looking like the hooker she says sex with me would make her.
Chance would be a fine thing.
There’s nothing wrong with sex. Except when you’re not getting any. Like me. Like now. Sadly, there seems to be little I can do to change her mind.
Outside of that, I’ve found living with her to be diverting. Both amusing and frustrating. I’d say the same probably goes for Eve. Certainly, she always seems on the verge of delight when she gets the last word. Or when the dog’s antics piss me off.
The strange thing is, I think I like having her around. I’d be lying if I said the fascination didn’t begin with Atherton’s expression that fateful day. I could see he was annoyed, but he was also genuinely distressed. At the time, I put it down to whose car Eve was in, but now I see it was that she was leaving. It must’ve felt like the sun going out.
I dismiss the whimsical thought. The opportunity to serve him a spoon of his own medicine was just too good to ignore. Steal his bride as revenge for Lucy, then use her as a means to snap the estate out from under his nose. While Eve didn’t exactly jump at the chance for revenge, the viral video, her visa problems, and the resulting media interest were enough to persuade her.
Along with a little old-fashioned blackmail.
Atherton’s life must be so awkward right now. Vilification in the gutter press, his investors pulling away day by day. Northaby only an idea in the distance.
Meanwhile, I live a cloud-walking existence. If only. Sex would definitely help the situation, but that’s not to say I’m not enjoying the challenge that is Eve.
I think about that night more than is healthy. The feel of her silken skin and the pleasure of her soft sighs. I tell myself my interest in her doesn’t need to be defined, that base lust is part of it. Revenge another. That her resistance piques my interest. But mostly, I think it’s just her.
“Oliver, you okay, there?”
Matt’s soft Irish lilt brings me back to the moment, and I realize my gaze has strayed to the entrance of the restaurant. I’m tense, I realize, but also oddly looking forward to what Eve will bring. Will she be the sunshine or the hurricane?
“Yes. Fine. I just have a lot of plates in the air in the moment.”
“Speaking of plates,” Fin puts in, “want to tell us why there’s an extra place setting?”