Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92180 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
In all my life, I’ve never had close female relationships, probably because I was thrust into a male-dominated world and I’ve had to be tough and closed off much of the time.
Jenna’s an impossibly easy person to open up to. Kind, funny, and loyal, I know I could tell her about Drake and she wouldn’t judge in the slightest.
But there’s nothing going on with Drake, and there never will be. In fact, I tap out a quick text to Clay as we move toward the elevator. Dinner tonight? My place?
Best way to scrub Drake McGinn from my mind is to have Clay distract me in bed. Of course, it’s a crapshoot since fifty percent of the time I’m free, he’s not, and vice versa.
I’m surprised when I get a quick text back. Absolutely. Eight p.m.?
That works, I type back and exhale in relief.
There… back on track. I’ll have my chef whip up something light for us, we’ll share a drink, and then I’ll let Clay fuck my brains out.
It’s a good plan.
♦
The doorbell rings, but I don’t move to answer it. Daniel will handle it. He’s the employee who manages most of the household affairs, and since I hate the term butler—it implies I can’t open the damn door myself—I call him my house manager. He’s the only full-time employee for the house, and he’s been here for thirteen years, so there’s no way I can let him go.
Daniel also cooks for me in the evenings if I’m home because no one wants me to burn down the place. I have a once-weekly cleaning service, but truly, it takes them no time at all as most of the house is closed off. I basically use the master suite, my home office, and the kitchen where I’m able to whip up a smoothie with no danger.
The house is a lot of square footage for just me, and I don’t particularly like living here, but it’s a duty. I was living in a condo downtown and moved back home after my father died. Someone needed to live here, and Adam didn’t want it. He liked being in the city, too, like me.
But I was head of the family once my father breathed his last, so I was the logical choice. There’s no rule against selling this place—it’s more room than I could ever hope to use—but it is the family home, passed down through the generations, so I feel obligated.
It should’ve been Adam’s one day, after he married and could fill it with kids. Except I’m here now, and it’s so empty even the tiniest sound echoes through the cavernous rooms.
My fingers fly over my keyboard as I want to finish my thoughts on this email before I lose them.
After only a few moments, Daniel steps into the office and announces Clay. “Dr. Bessel has arrived.”
I glance up as Clay sidesteps Daniel, offer him a quick smile, and hold up a finger that I need a minute.
“Can I get you a drink, Dr. Bessel?” Daniel asks.
“Gin and tonic,” Clay replies.
“I’ll take one too,” I say while still typing.
Clay is patient as I finish the email, and when I hit Send, I move from the desk and into his arms.
Not for a hug, because that’s not our relationship. Instead, my hands press into his chest, and he gives me a light kiss on my cheek.
Clay Bessel would tick every box on a list a woman might write if she were building her fantasy man. Raven-black hair with piercing blue eyes, chiseled jaw, and a strong physique. He’s brilliant, accomplished, and wealthy. Not Norcross wealthy, but top-notch neurosurgeons make a great living.
He is what every woman aspires to have as a lover. Moreover, many women would want to land an engagement ring on her finger from someone like Clay.
“You look as lovely as ever,” he says as I step back from him.
I sigh, pulling the pins from my chignon so my hair falls free. “I wanted time to shower before you came, but I had too much to do. Did you have the day off?”
“I did and got in eighteen holes and shot a seventy-one.”
“Nice,” I commend. On the very rare occasion I have a Saturday or Sunday free, Clay sometimes takes me out for a round of golf.
He leans in, his hand going to my hip. “If you want, we can skip dinner and head to your room. You can take that shower, and I’d be more than happy to scrub your back.”
Ordinarily, I’d take Clay up on his offer, but all I can think about is if it were Drake standing here and how, if I’d mentioned I hadn’t had time to shower, he’d have picked me up, thrown me over his shoulder, and carried me to the master bath.
He wouldn’t have asked.