Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
I take the one this gorgeous woman with the long blond hair is offering me. “Yes, you can,” I say, meeting her captivating crystal-blue gaze at last, now that I’m done sending death rays at that guy. With him in the rearview, I pause, like we need a reset to move past that part of the night and into this part before I add, “On one condition.”
“What’s your condition?”
“That you let me buy it for you.”
A soft laugh falls from her glossy lips. Such a better expression than the tight, tense look on her face moments ago. Now her shoulders are relaxed, her eyes inviting. “Chivalry is not dead.”
“Not with me, that’s for damn sure.”
With a well then expression, she gestures to the stool next to her. I take it, placing the tablet I’ve been holding on the bar top. Time to set my business plans aside, along with the proposal I’ve been working on since my early evening meeting here in this hotel. I’ll send this proposal to Dean tonight to review. Get his feedback. Make sure it’s airtight and confident before I fire it off to a huge potential client. A kernel of hope rushes through me. This gig could be huge for our recently launched firm.
But for now, a drink. I nod toward her empty glass. “Rosé?”
She lifts a brow. “You noticed what I was drinking?”
“I notice lots of things.” But I don’t want her to think I’m just as bad as that guy, like I’ve been stalking her in a whole new way, so I widen the aperture. “Like, I noticed the women over there traded lipsticks before they shot selfies while drinking cosmos, and the guy who hit on you removed his wedding band.”
My companion’s lips part. “He did? I noticed a tan line, but not that he’d taken it off.”
“About fifteen seconds before he moved next to you. And the bartender didn’t come over because he was working on a big order for a dozen blueberry margaritas.”
“Are you an anthropologist studying bar behavior? A secret shopper who observes hotel lobbies? Or a superhero who saves the day when a gal needs a temporary boyfriend to ward off creepers?”
I laugh. “The latter sounds like a good gig. But no, I’m just observant.” I offer my hand. “Banks. I’m in town for the night from Los Angeles.”
For a brief second, she appears taken aback when I say Los Angeles, but then clears her expression and says, “Ripley.” Like it’s important to her to say her name. “Like Ripley’s Believe It or Not!”
“Or Ripley from Alien,” I add.
“Or The Talented Mr. Ripley. I’m in the city from—” She must think the better of supplying that detail because, with barely a pause, she finishes, “A little town by the coast.” She holds my hand for a beat longer than most do, and I definitely don’t mind the extended shake or the way she holds back where she’s from. That’s just smart for a woman these days.
She lets go of my hand as the bartender comes our way.
I raise a finger to get his attention, and he stops in front of us.
“Sorry for the wait. Had a big order.” His smile is apologetic. “Thanks for your patience. What can I get you?”
Ripley shoots me a look that says she’s impressed. I like it—the cute smirk, the twinkle in her irises. “No worries, Duke,” I tell the bartender, reading his name tag. “A rosé for the lady.”
“Actually, a whiskey sour for me,” she says, keeping me on my toes.
“I stand corrected,” I say.
Then, she continues to keep me on my toes, tilting her head toward my glass. “And what was it you were drinking? Bourbon?”
I let out a low, appreciative whistle as I reach for the credit card in my pocket and slap it down. “Yes, I was. But I’ll have the same as my…girlfriend.”
She rolls her lips, sealing up some satisfied laughter.
“Two whiskey sours coming right up,” Duke says.
When he leaves, I turn to Ripley. “And so are you—observant, that is.”
She shakes her head, dismissing the compliment. “I was actually admiring your butterfly when I noticed the drink. I’m more of a gambler. I took a guess it was bourbon.”
“Gut instinct,” I say with an approving nod. My job, my whole business, is fueled by gut instinct. “That’s a good thing.”
She gives me a grateful smile. “Seriously though. I appreciate what you did.”
“It’s no problem,” I reply.
“And guys wonder why we think dating is rough. But I’m glad you decided to fake date me tonight.” She pauses a moment, teasing me with a smile. “And I’m extra glad you decided to be my boyfriend, not just someone meeting me for a first date.”
“You don’t like first dates?” I ask. But who does?
She gives a faux shudder. “First dates are horrible. It’s like a review of your dating CV. All that talk about what you do for a living, where you see yourself in a few years, how many pet goldfish you have, and so on.”