Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
She blinks up at me, and I swear I could drown in those big brown eyes of hers. “That’s… actually kind of adorable. Also, I’m starving. I’d kill for barbecue, or maybe pizza. Actually, Chinese doesn’t sound too bad either.”
Her little stomach rumbles, loud as a freight train, and for some reason, it makes my chest feel tight. I want to feed her. Fuck, I want to make sure she’s never hungry again. I mentally scroll through every take-out option within ten miles, already plotting how I’m going to keep her here with me.
I lean in, close enough to see the gold flecks in her eyes, and drop my voice. “Let’s get you fed, Poppy. After a day like you’ve had, you deserve to be spoiled.”
She shoves her hair off her forehead and her eyes light up. “Since Pepper is generously paying, I think we should order sushi from The Happy Chopstick.”
My stomach drops. I goddamn hate raw motherfucking fish. In fact, I avoid it at all costs, but I’d eat a paper sack right now to spend more time with Poppy. So, I paste a smile on my face and shrug. “Sushi it is.”
She lights up like I just gave her a damn diamond necklace. “Really?”
I nod, keeping my face as neutral as possible. If I have to choke down raw fish to keep her here, so be it. I’ll eat whatever the hell she wants as long as I get to watch her enjoy it.
The air in the room electrifies, charged with something I can't name but recognize deep in my bones. My fingers tingle with the need to touch her again. Jesus, I've interrogated stone-cold killers without breaking a sweat, but this five-foot-nothing cleaning girl has me shaking like a rookie on his first day.
I grab my phone, fingers one-tapping by muscle memory into the delivery app, grateful for something to focus on besides the curve of her mouth. "What do you want?"
She presses her lips together, thinking hard, then rattles off three rolls and a side of pork dumplings. Her stomach rumbles again, even louder this time, so I order double of everything, just in case. Then I add miso soup and mochi, which I’m ninety-nine percent sure is dessert.
CHAPTER THREE
POPPY
The next ten minutes are spent pretending I have my shit together as I pack up my cleaning kit and try not to think about the way Jack leans against the kitchen island with his arms crossed, watching me like I’m a puzzle he can’t wait to solve.
I cram my half-empty bottle of Mrs. Meyer’s and a wad of rags into the battered cleaning tote and set it next to the front door. My hands are still shaking. I can feel his gaze on me, which is both flattering and terrifying. I busy myself lining up the barstools at the kitchen counter, just to have something to do with my hands.
“Food should be here in twenty,” Jack tells me, and it sounds like a command, not a suggestion. Maybe it’s the cop thing. Or maybe it’s just him. I hesitate, clutching my phone in both hands, suddenly hyperaware of him.
“Thanks,” I say. I shuffle to the edge of the kitchen, trying to ignore the way my knees threaten to liquefy every time Jack locks eyes with me. He uncrosses his arms, stalking around the island, slow and controlled, the way a panther might circle a wounded rabbit. I am the rabbit in this scenario.
“You want something to drink?” His voice is low, steady, and so serious it sounds like an interrogation.
“I, um…” My tongue fumbles like it’s been drinking all day. He’s so close now that I can see the tiny scar above his eyebrow and the way his dress shirt stretches across chest muscles you could probably bounce quarters off of. “Water’s fine.”
He pulls out a fancy bottle of sparkling water and holds it up with a smirk. “Still or bubbly?”
“Bubbly, obviously.” I watch as he pours it into a glass with ice and a literal lemon twist. “You know, I’m not actually a guest. I just work here.”
“You’re my guest now.” He hands me the glass. Our fingers brush, and all my internal organs rearrange themselves in a very unprofessional way. “I have to make up for my dog’s assassination attempt.”
“I’d consider it attempted kidnapping.” I take a long drink, ignoring the way my girly parts tingle from being this close to him. “Pepper is a menace. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Unfortunately.” Jack calls Pepper over with a snap of his fingers, and she trots up like a tiny, chubby assassin, then sits perfectly at his feet and stares at me with her big frog eyes. “I’m going to take her on a quick walk before our food comes.” That’s probably a good idea. I don’t know how long dogs can hold it, but I know Pepper hasn’t been out since I got here. Jack gestures to the plush charcoal sectional. "Make yourself at home while we're gone."