Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Carys smiles. “I can’t wait until this date is over so you can call and fill me in. You’ve piqued my curiosity.”
I stand and glance at the time on my phone. “Thanks for your help, but I need to get dressed. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay. Good luck, Tate.”
“I don’t need luck.” I pull the phone away so she sees my abs. “Did you forget who you’re talking to again?”
She snorts, shaking her head. “Good night.”
“Bye.”
I end the call and toss my phone on the bed. My eyes linger on the mattress long after the phone lands.
Excitement stirs in the pit of my stomach. But there’s a curious twist in my gut, too. Because when have I ever been turned down?
I snatch the phone once again and find Astrid’s name at the top.
Me: Heyyyyyy.
Astrid: Did the rose arrive?
Me: Yes, and it’s perfect. Thank you.
Astrid: Great. Now lose my number.
“Rude,” I say, tapping out a quick response.
Me: You don’t mean that.
Astrid: I promise you that I do.
Me: I actually need one more thing, and you’re the only person who can help me with it because you’re brilliant.
Astrid: Stop trying to charm me, Brewer. I know you. Get to the point.
Me: I’m going to ignore that.
Astrid: Whatever works for you. Now, what do you want? I’m organizing a few things for Renn and Blakely’s Australian house, and it’s a major headache.
“I need to send her something when this is over,” I say, then stop and stare at the wall. “Who can I get to send it if she doesn’t send it for me? Such a quandary.”
I shake my head and refocus.
Me: Imagine that you came to my hotel room tonight and were impressed. What does that look like?
Astrid: You would be gone, for starters.
Me: ASTRID, PLEASE HELP ME.
Astrid: Fine. I’m impressed in what capacity? What’s the goal here?
I survey the room.
Typically, I don’t consider what a room looks like before I bring a woman into it. Because who cares? They’re coming for one thing, and that’s not to analyze the hotel’s housekeeping.
But this time, it matters, and I’m not sure why.
Me: The goal is to make it feel more comfortable. Make it smell nice.
Astrid: Tate Brewer, are you trying to be romantic?
Me: This isn’t the kind of woman you take for granted. I gotta up my game. Put in some effort.
Astrid: You mean *I* need to put in some effort.
Me: Both of us. We’re a team now.
Astrid: We are definitely not a team. But, because I am impressed at this turn of events, yes, I will help you. How long do I have?
I check my watch.
Me: Two hours.
Astrid: Damn. I thought Renn’s timelines were bad.
Me: I appreciate you.
Astrid: Don’t try to suck up now. I’ve already agreed.
Me: Thank you, Astrid.
Astrid: I gotta go. I have two hours to make magic happen.
I exhale, feeling a little lighter than before. Although she never makes it easy on me, Astrid is brilliant at accomplishing the impossible.
“Now it’s my turn to make magic happen,” I say, discarding the phone again.
This whole situation has happened so quickly that I haven’t had much time to think about the ramifications if she doesn’t show up—or, worse, if she shows up at the restaurant with someone else. It wouldn’t be surprising if some other man had locked her in for dinner. There’s also the tiniest possibility that she’s not into me.
I bite back a laugh. Of course, she’s into me.
Her reasons for turning me down aren’t clear, but I suspect I can get to the bottom of it before the night is over.
And, if I’m lucky, I’ll get under her before morning, too.
Chapter Four
Aurora
I run a towel over my wet hair. My hand trembles, making the process difficult. It’s hard to do anything when I’m still buzzed from my interactions with Tate.
“I really want to see you again, Kelly.”
My knees wobble as I recall Tate’s devilish smirk leveled at me.
How is this happening to me?
I’ve floated around my hotel for the last couple of hours, replaying our conversation on the plane and again at baggage claim when we ran into each other.
He offered me a ride to the hotel. I politely declined.
My body still tingles from his hand touching my lower back as he helped me into my ride-share. He wasn’t thrilled with my decision to get into the car with the random driver the app sent, and I saw him snap a quick picture of the license plate. I had to finesse my way through the interaction, so he didn’t pick up on my real name, and I apologized to Tony, the driver, for Tate’s subtle-not-subtle instruction to get me to the hotel quickly, safely, and in one piece.
It was unnecessary. It was also so fucking hot.
My phone rings in the bedroom, and I work my fingers through my wet hair as I answer it.