Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
“I did,” I confess. “But I’m busy. Busy running a company. A global company worth a few billion dollars.”
“Ha!” Sutton’s grandma chortles. “If you’re too busy to order your own dang gitch, then you’re doing something wrong. If I were her, I would have ordered wool. Would have served you right.”
I break into a wide grin. I can’t help myself. Sutton just about turns purple because it’s exactly what she wrote in her strange diary. Maybe she told her grandma that. But it’s funnier to think she didn’t.
“As it was in the middle of winter, I would have thanked her for being so concerned about me.”
The grandmother’s sparkling eyes run the length of me. “Mind you keep your concern where it belongs. In your pants.”
“Granny!”
“Well, one thing leads to another, and soon enough, bam! It’s how babies are made.”
“I know how babies are made,” Sutton groans. “We both do. And we don’t even like each other. This is an obligation. Seriously. I wrote mean things about him. Because I don’t like him.”
“Hate and love are almost the same.”
“This isn’t,” Sutton assures her. She bends and gives her grandma a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t wait up. We have a lot to discuss if we’re going to sell this thing.”
“You shouldn’t have to sell yourself to get a raise.”
“I know. I’m not. Not like that. But I could have been fired, so I’d say this is actually turning out quite well.”
“I told you to write the stuff down. Not keep it on a computer where anyone could read it,” Sutton’s grandmother scolds.
“I know,” Sutton sighs. She gives the little old lady a hug. “Do you want me to bring something back for you?”
“Cheesecake? Dinner rolls? A full plate of something delicious? If he’s paying, bring back as much as you can carry. If not, stuff it in your purse.”
“Okay,” Sutton giggles. “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I swear I hear her grandmother mutter as she closes the door behind Sutton.
“Sorry. I—she wanted to meet the boss she’s heard so much about.” She winces. “Wait, that’s not what I meant. It came out wrong. I haven’t said anything like what I wrote…”
“I’m sure you have.” I grin back at her. This is actually turning out to be the most entertaining thing that’s happened to me in a very long time. “You’re lucky I have a dry, sick sense of humor.”
“I didn’t think you had one at all.” She says it softly like she doesn’t mean for it to wound me, but it does.
Because I used to be funny. I used to make jokes. I used to be tolerable. I actually used to have friends and people who liked hanging out with me.
“Philippe?”
“For the record,” I put on a brave, unaffected face because it’s what I do. “My mother named me Philippe because she has this obsession with all things history and all things classic. Now, if you will… I actually made the reservation for eight.” I point at my lime green car, which she loves to hate. “Your chariot awaits.”
“You promise you’re not going to drive like a crazy person in that? Because I know the thing probably goes fast enough to break light speeds or something.”
“And here I thought you said it underperformed.”
“Maybe I meant overcompensated.”
We reach the car, and I open the door for her like the gentleman I actually am. I always opened the door for my mom and sister. It was something my dad did. It was always second nature to me. Sutton gives me a funny look. She eyes the car like it’s going to kill her but slides into the front seat anyway.
I don’t exactly keep my promise not to drive fast, but I do drive safely. We get to the restaurant in record time, right on time for our reservation. It’s a nice place we often go to for company dinners. Sutton gives me a look as soon as she sits down across from me. There’s a bottle of wine on the table already. The waiter, clad all in black, cracks it open and pours it for us without asking if we want it. A basket of bread appears right after.
“What?” I don’t touch the bread. No matter what Sutton thinks about my gluten-free bagels and cauliflower crust, bread makes my stomach hurt. Badly. I don’t feel like spending the rest of the night in a ball, so the rolls are a hard pass.
“It’s just so—so—you that you’d bring me here. You bring everyone here. I could have made the reservation myself. I’m on a first-name basis with Janice.”
“Who’s that?”
“The hostess.”
I can feel myself practically withering inside. “Sorry. I didn’t think it had to be original as long as it served bread.”
“This is fine. You know, if you like eating food that is barely food.”