Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Someone cleared their throat.
I jerked back, mortified to find I'd threaded my hands into James’ hair and just kissed him like that in front of two people.
Chef Antoine was dabbing his eyes with a napkin. "Magnifique! The passion, the heat!" He sighed happily.
Dick had vanished, thankfully. But now I had a bigger problem.
I'd just had my tongue in James Carter's mouth. Again. And I liked it. Again.
In fact, of all the Michelin-star-level bites I’d tasted in the last hour, James was the one I found myself wanting seconds of. And that was a very, very bad thing.
"We should go," I managed, extracting myself from James' lap on shaky legs. "Thank you for everything, Chef."
"Of course! I will prepare the full proposal." He grinned. "Perhaps some aphrodisiacs, yes? Though it seems you two will not be needing any assistance in that department."
I grabbed my tablet and practically ran for the door. James caught up to me in the hallway.
"Emma—"
"No." I held up a hand. "That was just for show. Like everything else about this fake relationship."
"Was it?" He stepped closer, backing me against the wall. "Because it felt pretty real to me."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "James..."
"Tell me you didn't feel it too."
I opened my mouth to lie, to tell him I felt nothing—
"There you are!"
We jumped apart as Lily rounded the corner. "Mom's been looking everywhere for you, Em. She says it's important."
Right. My mother. Who had hired James to investigate my sister's fiancé.
And I'd just been about to kiss him. Again.
What the hell was wrong with me?
12
EMMA
Ifound my mom waiting in the resort's lobby. The vast space hummed with morning activity as sunlight streamed through the frost-rimmed windows and fires crackled in the fireplaces. She was sitting at the bar with a drink nestled between her hands and a troubled expression on her face. Before I could reach her, I saw I was going to have to try to squeeze past Mr. Wellington and a group of about ten people all wearing fancy snow gear by the lobby's entrance.
The scene reminded me of a luxury sportswear catalog come to life—all perfect hair and coordinated outfits despite supposedly being ready for the slopes. At a glance, I didn't recognize many of the faces in the group except Dick and Mr. Wellington.
The wedding party was relatively large, because the Wellingtons were the type of family that had dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles. At the center, there was Mr. Wellington and his wife, Martha. Then Marcus and his brother, the aptly-named Dick. Marcus also had a sister named Charity, but I hadn't crossed paths with her yet. Outside that, I admittedly hadn't looked too deeply into who was who, beyond confirming things like allergies and preferences that might be relevant for my work.
My eyes lingered on a trio of brothers within the group who were all different flavors of gorgeous. They looked like they'd been ordered from some "Rich Bachelor Monthly" catalogue—one of each type to suit any preference.
One had dark hair and big muscles, his jacket straining slightly across his shoulders. The other had sandy blonde hair with a longer face and bedroom eyes, and the last had reddish curls with blonde stubble on his chiseled face. The three of them were standing in a group and laughing about something, their perfect white teeth gleaming.
"Ah! Emma!" Mr. Wellington boomed across the lobby, clapping his hands like he'd just discovered buried treasure.
"Hey," I said, forcing a quick smile. "Planning to go out to ski?”
"We're all a bunch of snow bugs," he said as he tightened what looked like a cashmere scarf around his neck. "Can't keep us off those slopes. Just like I can't keep my Dick off pretty women!"
I choked as I sipped my coffee, which nearly made a surprise appearance through my nose. "Pardon?"
Dick appeared at Mr. Wellington's shoulder like he'd been summoned by the unfortunate comment.
Oh. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved to know Richard Wellington was talking about his son and not his… member.
"Hey, now," Dick said, shaking his head. "Let’s shoot it straight, dad. You’re not keeping Dick off the pretty women. You’re keeping pretty women off Dick!”
I was currently engaged in a horrible internal battle not to laugh aloud.
“If you’re lucky,” Dick said, leaning close. “You may even get a chance to find yourself getting pulled off Dick by dad before this trip is over.” As usual, he punctuated his creepiness with a wink—like a dash of salt to finish off the world’s most off-putting meal.
My brain short-circuited trying to process that entire exchange. "I'm spoken for," I managed in a quiet voice that was somewhere between laughter and crying. Did they seriously not hear themselves right now? And why was Dick speaking in the third person in this context? Maybe they really were just messing around, and maybe I could ingratiate myself a little by joining in on the fun.