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)
He smiles, holds up a finger and mouths, “One second.”
I point to the pile of sheets on the floor and quickly gather them before he’s off the call and we’re forced to make small talk.
“Okay, that sounds like the best plan. Thank you, Rob. I’ll call you later.” He ends his call. “Good morning.”
Too late.
“Morning.” I focus on gathering the sheets instead of looking at his bright smile.
“Give me a sec. I need to shake them out because I think Blair, in her impatient mood, gathered up my wallet that I tossed onto the bed.”
I slowly release the sheets and step aside just as Murphy steps in the same direction, then we do it in the other direction.
Risking a glance up at him, I return a nervous smile.
“I guess you can dance after all.” He smirks.
I step to the side to put space between us, but bump into the desk. It hits the wall, and I cringe, inspecting for any damage.
“Sorry, that was my fault,” he says. “And don’t worry. If it dented the wall, it won’t be the first time I’ve had to do a little wall repair from a desk.”
Is that a reference? Why would he? He doesn’t know I remember him.
There is a little dent from where the desk hit the wall. “Dammit,” I whisper.
“Hey, I’m serious. It’s okay,” Murphy says, shaking out the sheets. “Ah, there’s my wallet.”
I run my finger along the dent.
“It’s barely noticeable,” he murmurs over my shoulder.
When I turn, Murphy is so close our noses nearly touch. I feel pinned to the desk while craning my head back to create space between us.
His gaze sweeps across my face. “Have you ever had déjà vu?” he whispers.
It’s not déjà vu, and he knows it.
“You feel like you’ve lost your wallet in the sheets before, but you haven’t?”
His lips corkscrew. “Sort of. But it wasn’t a wallet I lost.”
“Murphy?” Blair calls.
He takes a giant step backward and draws in a sharp breath.
“Be patient with her,” I say. “She’s on the verge of getting her happily ever after, but sometimes that can be stressful.”
His lips part, but he just as quickly clamps his jaw shut and nods several times. “Coming,” he hollers.
I gather the sheets again.
“Are you happy?” he asks as I step toward the doorway.
I pause for a second without a backward glance. “Of course,” I murmur and continue toward the laundry room.
“Alice, can you come in here for a second?” Hunter requests as I pass his study.
“Yes, sir.” I quickly toss the sheets onto the laundry room floor and return to his luxurious two-story study lined on three sides with bookshelves and modern wood stairs with a metal railing to the second-story catwalk. Magnificent arched windows behind his desk illuminate the grand space. A sweet and spicy smoke aroma lingers despite the cracked window. Vera doesn’t let him smoke cigars in the house, but he clearly does it anyway.
“How do you feel about reading books?” he asks, removing his readers.
“Um, fine. I guess. Why?”
Soft jazz plays on his turntable.
“I want you to read to me.” He lumbers from his desk chair and loosens his red tie, then he scans the neatly organized bookshelves while unbuttoning the top two buttons of his white dress shirt. He selects a book from the bottom shelf. “Have you read Three Men in a Boat?”
“I have not,” I say, then press my lips together to hide my grin. This job just keeps getting better.
“It’s a soothing story. Would you mind?” He hands me the book, then he slides a tufted brown leather chair close to the matching sofa. “Have a seat. What can I get you to drink? Scotch? Wine?” He adds ice to a glass, ice that I filled earlier. But now he’s serving me?
“Just water,” I say. “Thank you.”
He sets the ice water by the table lamp and reclines on the sofa, ankles crossed, hands folded on his chest, eyes closed.
After a few seconds of silence, he peeks open one eye. “Just a few chapters. Then I have work to do.”
Does he really? I continue to suppress my giggle.
Crossing my legs, I clear my throat and begin reading. By the end of the first chapter, I think he’s asleep, but since I don’t know for sure, I keep going for two more chapters. At the end of chapter three, I wait. Is he going to wake up? Am I supposed to wake him?
“Mr. Morrison?” I whisper.
He doesn’t move.
I set the book aside and lean forward, resting my hand on his arm. “Mr. Morrison?”
His eyes pop open, and he sits up, stretching his arms over his head on a big yawn. “You have a calming voice. What do you think of the story so far?”
I think no one would believe me if I told them I got paid a hundred dollars an hour to read to a silver fox.