Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Nope. I have no clue how he came up with that analogy. Is Alice supposed to be a marshmallow? Was Vera once a marshmallow? Is she smaller and not as firm? I’m so damn confused. And I don’t like the images in my head right now.
I squint against the sun. “Does your house manager wear a uniform? Or are her outfits her own choice?” Talking about Alice isn’t easy, but we can’t stay on the marshmallow topic any longer.
Hunter chuckles, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “It was just a suggestion. Vera said Alice seemed excited about it. Besides, a lot of jobs have uniforms. It’s not like I’m asking her to be a bunny in my mansion or wear shirts that show off her hooters.”
This conversation is so far off the rails, it’s making me nauseous.
“What do you know about her?”
“Alice?”
I nod.
“She’s witty, which means she’s probably smart. But I don’t know a lot about her yet. I’ve tried to drag stuff out of her, but she works the conversation in the direction she wants it to go. I think she works me.” He grins. “Maybe better than Vera. And I respect that. I like a woman who knows she wields power. Hell, Vera hiring me a homemaker was a queen move. And don’t you dare tell Blair I said that, or I will deny it. I’m being manipulated. Vera likes her cushy life and can’t be bothered with things like making dinner, ironing, or stroking my ego. Make no mistake about it; I’m the victim.”
He finishes his beer as we stare at the pool and listen to the birds and lawnmowers in the distance, the sweet aroma of fresh cut grass mixing with the breeze. “I have a few things to do before I shower. Can I get you another beer before I head inside?”
“I’m good, but thanks,” I say.
After Hunter disappears into the house, I set my half-empty bottle of beer on the table next to my chair and stroll toward the guesthouse between the perfectly trimmed hedges. When a man exits, I stop and step aside out of view. Alice follows him to his gray truck on the street. She’s no longer in “uniform.” Instead, she’s wearing shorts, a tight, white tank top, and flip-flops. Her ponytail is gone, hair messy and blowing in the breeze. My Alice had shorter, blond hair.
The guy turns his baseball cap backwards and stops at his truck to kiss her, palming her ass as she wraps her arms around him. After he pulls away from the curb, Alice turns, stopping when she sees me, lifting a hand in a polite beauty queen wave before disappearing around the corner.
How can she not remember?
Chapter Seven
Murphy
High expectations are a gift.
Someone believes in you.
Eight Years Earlier …
My work-from-home office consisted of a desk and computer facing a window overlooking the backyard. Alice Yates, my cat-loving renter, sat on the deck, sipping coffee while petting Arnold Palmer. She seemed to stare off into the distance at nothing at all, slowly bringing her mug to her lips for a sip. It took her nearly an hour to drink her coffee. I studied her like a gallery painting, mesmerized and consumed with curiosity.
Maybe it was her form of meditation, but she looked sad and lost. Even when the breeze blew her blond, bobbed hair into her face, she didn’t push it away. Occasionally, she’d squint as if confused or focused on a problem.
I typed for ten or so minutes and took a break to see if she had moved. For someone doing nothing at all, she was incredibly distracting. As a rental owner, I tried to make myself as invisible as possible, but I felt an unusual urge to check on her again, just to see if she was okay.
I had no errands to run, but I grabbed my keys as though I did. She swung her gaze to me as I descended the back stairs and gave me a beauty queen wave with a smile that looked equal parts shy and mischievous.
“Good morning. Is everything meeting your expectations? Can I make any restaurant suggestions? Places to explore or shop?”
She corkscrewed her lips for a beat. “Seems a little risky.”
“Oh?” I stepped onto the deck, fiddling with my keys. She made me nervous with one look. It was the first time any woman had rattled me with nothing more than a smile.
Her blue eyes gleamed with curiosity. Her subtle moves oozed confidence.
“I have you on such a high pedestal. One wrong suggestion could ruin everything. Pizza with an inaccurate cheese to crust ratio. Tacos with pre-made guacamole. A clothing store that’s a chain.”
I scratched the back of my head. “Can I uh … ask what I did to be put on a high pedestal?”
She emptied the last drips of coffee into her mouth and rubbed her lips together. “Your vinyl record collection is flawless. Your fig tree is thriving. And the jar of local honey is chef’s kiss.”