Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Out my building.
Up Regent Street.
Across Piccadilly Circus.
Onto Leicester Square.
I’m very aware of Christmas on steroids around me, can smell the mulled wine and toasted chestnuts. But today, it’s okay. I dip and weave through the endless crowds, urgent for a different reason.
Him.
I’m halfway across the square when I spot him, just one man amid masses of people.
And my heart blasts, pounding so hard, I can feel it in my throat. “God, you beautiful, unexpected man.” I stop, a static form in the middle of the square, forced to take a moment and a breath at the sight of him. He stops too, seeming to take me in, his face endlessly expressionless. His suit’s back, his navy, double-breasted overcoat fastened, his scarf wrapped around his neck. The way he stands, his stance wide, his body lifted from the chest, his hands in his coat pockets. He’s . . .
Magnificent.
Strong.
I walk to him, our eyes glued, and slow to a stop a foot away. He says nothing, but he pulls a hand from one of his pockets and offers it to me.
Taking it is easy.
And without one word spoken but a million unspoken, he starts to walk us away from the chaos. Not that I’m registering the madness around me. The ball of anxiety isn’t following me. I feel nothing, only awe and, I fear . . .
Something deeper.
Dec seems to know exactly where he’s going. We arrive at a little deli on the corner of a back street, and he pushes his way in, making a bell above the door ding our arrival. There’s room for only a handful of tables and chairs, all taken bar one at the back by the stairs. He unravels his scarf and hangs it with his coat on the back of a chair, and I follow his lead.
“Let me,” he says, rounding me and easing my coat off my shoulders. I feel his breath at my ear, his front virtually pushed into my back.
“Do you need to be so close when you help me out of my coat?” I ask, my smile hidden.
“Absolutely.” His lips meet my jawbone, and the sensations are arresting. “Coffee?” he whispers.
“Please.” I can hardly talk.
“How do you take it?”
“Black.”
He breaks away, allowing me air, not that I want it, and hangs my coat on the back of my chair before he heads to the counter. Lowering to my seat, I watch him while he orders, the eternal impassive man not even cracking a smile for the server, just a stern nod when she says she’ll bring our drinks over. Joining me back at the table, he sits in the chair, looking big and uncomfortable. His phone rings, forcing him up again to dig it out of his pocket. He rejects the call, and it immediately rings again.
“Do you need to get that?”
“Probably, but I don’t want to.” A fleeting moment of exasperation passes across his face.
“Bad day?”
“Had better,” he replies sharply, rejecting the call again. “I had a last-minute unexpected rescue bid come in on a company I’m acquiring. I had to escape the circus for a while.”
“So you called me.”
One of his brows lifts, and he rests back in his seat as the server approaches, giving her room to slide the tray onto the tiny table. “Are you hungry?”
I shake my head and thank the server for my coffee and water. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“It’s fine. I don’t think we’ll fit anything else on this table.” He starts moving things around, a semi-scowl on his handsome face, making the lines across his forehead deepen. And his phone rings again. Every muscle in him seems to tense, his jaw twitching as if he’s gathering patience. “Do you mind?”
I wave him off, taking some water as he answers.
“What?” he says, short, listening for a few moments, his eyes narrowing. He fascinates me. I could watch him for an eternity, and it’s in this moment I realise he’s not actually eternally impassive. I see emotion on his face, like now as he scowls his irritation. I’ve seen mild frustration, and I’ve seen relief. But no joy. No warmth, although I feel warmth from him. But does anyone else? Or do they get the stern man I’m looking at now, as he listens, obviously wound up about something? I can see why someone would be wary of him.
The formidable businessman.
Or simply a formidable man?
The person on the other end of the line’s voice is clear, not because they’re speaking loudly, but because it’s so quiet in here. “What do you want us to do?” they ask.
“They want a bidding war, we’ll give them one.”
“Dec, as your adviser, I’m telling you you’re already paying too much for this company.”
“They’re cowboys looking to make their name by chasing me out of the deal. I’m not backing down. Ten million.”