Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79932 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Jesse’s lawyer looked over everything for me—after signing an NDA—and now I was officially Crossland McClaren’s girlfriend. He’d urged me to pack a bag for a quick weekend trip to Raleigh last night. What he’d failed to mention was that we were going to be attending his best friend’s wedding tomorrow.
“What’s wrong with that?” Crossland asked like he didn’t see the issue.
I stared at him where he sat across from me in the buttery soft leather seats. I fidgeted with the buttons, there were so many. Some that moved the seat back and forth and others that turned on a warmer and who knew what else. I’d never flown anywhere before, let alone a private jet where flight attendants were serving us champagne and French fries, brought in special just because Crossland knew they were my favorite snack, something he’d asked through text the night before.
I was way out of my depth here.
“I’m trying to wrap my head around everything,” I admitted. “And I’m just a little surprised that you want our first date to be your best friend’s wedding. So many people that you know will be there and we’ll be under the microscope, especially at the reception. Luckily, at the ceremony, all the attention will be on the bride and groom, but after?” I fiddled with a few strands of my hair, suddenly realizing something terrible. I snapped in my eyes to Crossland. “I didn’t pack properly. You didn’t explain—”
“Aspen,” he said, his voice warm and commanding, causing chills to curl down my spine. “Relax,” he continued. “We’re going shopping today.”
“Oh,” I said, relieved.
I sat back against the warm, cushioned chair and glanced at the clouds out the window.
Was I really here? On a private jet with a billionaire who was going to take me dress shopping to be his date for a wedding?
Yesterday, somebody had yelled at me because I didn’t include their cream cheese with their bagel, and today I was here enveloped in all things Crossland, from his cedar and cinnamon scent to the sharp, clean, spacious private jet.
“Okay,” I said, focusing. “We need to get our story straight if we’re going to pass the wedding test.”
“Wedding test?” he asked, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“Yes, the wedding test. Taking a date to a wedding is a huge deal. Love and commitment practically bleed from the walls, and if you bring a new date, then everybody will ask questions. And we’re going to have to behave as if we’ve been dating for a month. At four weeks, we should know each other’s favorite stuff—music, food, songs, treats. We should know how each other takes our coffee and what our bedtime routines are.”
Crossland’s eyes darkened, as if he was contemplating just how we would go to bed together. The images I hadn’t been able to get out of my head for the last week made my heart flutter. It was impossible not to think about it with Crossland, especially after he’d been so gracious and understanding with the deal. He made sure I was comfortable every step of the way and sex wasn’t even on the table, but somehow, it kept popping into my mind. I blamed his patience and charm, but his damn blue eyes and gorgeous body had a lot to do with it, too. And…ugh, everything about Crossland was appealing so far. Surely he had some flaw ready to creep out and hit me with a good dose of ick, right?
I pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the monumental task at hand.
This was a job for me and I always took my job seriously. Took anything that provided me with security seriously.
“Lucky for us,” I continued. “We have a two-hour plane ride in order to get all the details down.”
Crossland grinned at me.
“What’s your favorite food?” I asked.
“Seafood,” he answered. “More specifically, Dungeness crab.”
Picturing him tearing into seasoned crustaceans while wearing his ten-thousand-dollar suit made me giggle.
“Why is that funny?”
I waved him off. “Sorry, just the image of you getting crab all over your suit is hilarious.”
“I don’t always wear suits.”
I eyed the royal blue number he was in right now, and he rolled his eyes, smoothing down the lapels of his jacket as he crossed one leg over the other.
“I’m used to traveling in style,” he said. “Especially if I’m going to a high-media-interest event, which Weston Rutherford’s wedding absolutely is. I enjoy being photographed in suits. It’s something I can control when other times I have no idea when someone is snapping pictures. But if I’m tearing into crab, trust me, I’m not wearing Armani.”
“Good to know,” I said.
“And yours?” he asked.
“Tacos,” I answered simply.
“Tacos?” he repeated, and I noted the raised brows like he was waiting for more. “Is that it? There’s no other specific detail to it, just tacos?”