Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
I can only hope I’m misreading her. Is she truly so set on River that she’ll do anything to make sure she gets more time with him?
One moment she’s telling me, tears welling in her eyes, that the people she gets close to always end up getting hurt, and the next, she’s got her claws out and is willing to fight to the death to get a date with the man she wants.
Has this desire for River become an obsession for her? And if so, why? She claims not to care if I fuck him—or if anyone else does. She only wants a chance with him.
And clearly she’ll do just about anything to get that chance.
But why?
That’s a question Misty hasn’t answered. She hasn’t answered me, at least, and I wonder if she even knows the answer herself.
Why River?
I’m flummoxed by the whole thing, and Misty has me walking a tightrope. Why did I get involved with her in the first place?
I hate the idea of cheating. Rigging this is no better than what my co-workers wanted to do to Jake Bosworth back in London. At least they had a decent reason for their actions. Their good designs, as well as mine, were getting overlooked in favor of the founder’s less talented grandson. It wasn’t fair, and I agreed with their feelings on the matter, just not with their methods.
But this?
I’m supposed to sabotage the others so Misty gets another chance with River?
There’s been no unfair advantage here. If anything, Misty’s already had an advantage. She got an orgasm on the catamaran and a private date with River already. Why should she get more?
Still, I have to do something. If I don’t, Misty will be spiking all the food with Ipecac, or God forbid, something worse. What is this woman truly capable of?
I’d prefer not to find out.
I’ll do what I must to keep her at bay for now, but as soon as I can, I’m getting an audience with Evangeline. Alone.
Katie hasn’t returned with the pepper yet, and Ariel, Sebastian, and Marc have disappeared. Their shrimp is in a large glass bowl marinating in something. Hmm… I could go over, douse it with some extra salt or something.
Misty is still sauteing our aromatics, so I edge over to where the bowl of shrimp is sitting on the counter. I glance around for a saltshaker.
Seriously? I’m in a gourmet kitchen and there’s no salt just sitting around? What about pepper? Nothing. If I start rummaging through cupboards I’ll arouse suspicion.
Too late.
Sebastian and Ariel return to the kitchen, only to find me standing at their station.
Bloody hell.
“Where have you three been?” I ask.
“Marc arranged a rum tasting,” Ariel says, smiling. “It was way better than Bacardi.”
“I can imagine. I wouldn’t mind sampling some fine Jamaican rum myself.”
Sebastian gives me a seductive smile. “Maybe later, English rose.”
His low voice trickles over me like warm caramel. He’s no River Barrett, but I wouldn’t kick him out of bed. If only we hadn’t been interrupted that first night.
Katie rushes back into the kitchen with Marc. “I’ve got the pepper,” she says to me. “Sorry it took so long. Marc was busy outside. Let’s go, Emily.”
Embarrassed, I turn quickly away from Sebastian and—
Crash!
The bowl containing the marinating shrimp clatters to the floor, sending shards of glass flying.
Then a shriek.
From Ariel.
I clamp my hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry! I bumped the bowl, and—”
But no one is focused on me. Ariel’s leg is bleeding. Sebastian wraps a kitchen towel around it while Evangeline hovers over her. They move her to the table where she sits in a chair.
I walk over and kneel to take a look. “I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t realize I was so close to the bowl. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says. “This is hardly the worst thing to splash all over my legs. It’s just a shallow cut.”
Evangeline has gone paler than usual. “What exactly happened?”
“Katie called me to return to our station, and I must have…” I shake my head, flustered. “I nudged the bowl of shrimp or something. I’m happy to help you remake the shrimp. Whatever the two of you need.”
“Who cares about the shrimp?” Sebastian says. “Ariel, are you sure you’re all right? It doesn’t look like a shallow cut to me. You’ve already soaked through this towel.”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
Marc joins us at the table. “I’ve got more shrimp. I’ll peel and devein them and remake the marinade. This won’t affect dinner at all.”
“Hello?” Sebastian, still inspecting Ariel’s calf, glares at him. “Who gives two shits about the dinner? She’s hurt. She’s bleeding here. Sugar, I hope this doesn’t leave a scar on those gorgeous gams of yours.”
“I’ve got scars on scars from running around barefoot as a kid at home,” Ariel says. “I’m not worried about that. It smarts, though. I need some Bactine or something.”