Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 206(@200wpm)___ 165(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Carson chuckles. “There could be a lot of possibilities. Some slight she’s overlooked or never noticed in the first place.”
I nod in agreement. “Where would we even start on something like that? We’ve interviewed most of her staff members and haven’t really come up with anything.”
“We need to look closer at her personal relationships and social circles.”
“The country club!” I shout excitedly. A few people turn toward me, curious about the commotion. “Sorry.” I sink into my seat and apologize.
“Ignore them. I mean, this is Jersey; they should be used to loud, expressive people.” Carson offers me another bite of his food, not embarrassed by my outburst in the slightest. He doesn’t seem to care. It’s kind of badass, actually. He doesn’t give a crap what others might think of him. He really does have cat energy.
"That is, if she belongs to one." I think it’s required if you’re rich. I’m sure it's in the fancy rich people rule book.
“Let’s see.” He pulls out his phone. "When she contacted me, I had some information pulled on her."
“Thinking ahead.”
“Kind of. I wanted to make sure she was legit before I did anything.”
“Oh,” I scrunch my nose. “I did not do that.” I press my hands to my cheeks, feeling them flush. To be honest, it never even occurred to me. “I just jumped on a plane that was sent for me.” Any humor or playfulness we had going drops away. Carson’s expression turns dark. I once again sink down into my chair. "Her TikToks looked legit?" I say, trying to defend myself, but it sounds more like a question.
"You need to be more careful, May." He shakes his head. "Something could have happened to you."
"You're right." I push my food around my plate. "Virgins do sell for a high price." I try to make light of it. "Or in romance books they do."
"May." Carson's tone is filled with warning.
"I’m just kitten around," I joke, attempting again to steer the conversation into lighter territory. “I’ll be more careful going forward.”
“You don’t have to worry as much now that I’m around.” I want to ask if he means that in a temporary kind of way or in a forever kind of way, but I don’t. I reach out and put my hand on his shoulder. He relaxes under my touch, so I start to stroke his arm.
“Thank you.”
His gaze drops to my hand. “Are you petting me?”
“Purr-haps.” I keep doing it. “Would you like me to stop?”
“You can stroke me anytime you like, May.”
“Carson,” I whisper, that heat returning to my cheeks again.
“There actually is a country club.” He pushes his phone toward me.
“That place is fancy.” I swipe through the pictures of the place. “Are we going in undercover?” I get way too excited at this idea. “I’ll be Catarina Chanel but my friends call me CC. We just got engaged and we’re looking for a place to get meow-rried.” Carson chuckles, but he’s not saying no. “Who would you be?”
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.” He leans over toward me. I tilt my head back. “The paw-sibilities are endless.”
Gah! I don’t wait for him to kiss me. I lean up, pressing my mouth to his. Carson is turning out to be too purr-fect to be true.
19
CARSON
The country club is just what I expected. Fancy cars valet-parked out front while people in white with ridiculous sun visors walk around self-importantly. Despite the frigid temperatures, there are still plenty of people hitting tennis balls or gearing up for their turn on the links.
“Do you have a tee time?” the valet asks as he takes my keys.
“No.” I stand and walk around to May, helping her out before the valet gets the chance.
“Do you have a membersh–”
“I have business inside.” I glare at him.
He swallows hard and slides into the driver’s seat, out of view.
“You scare everyone.” May grins.
“Everyone but you?”
She nods. “Everyone but me.”
“Come along, CC.” I bite back a smile at her code name.
“Have you chosen your undercover title?” she whispers as we walk up the wide front steps toward two sturdy wood doors, both propped open with a view into a swanky entry. Orchestral Christmas music floats out past the tastefully draped greenery and holly.
“I’ll be Tortie Shorthair, your groom-to-be.”
She giggles, the sound like warm rain. “I love it. And it works. Rich people always have some wild-sounding names.”
“Sir, do you have an appointment?” A man stands at a desk to the right, a chandelier positioned over his head, illuminating his balding pate.
“We’re here to tour the grounds for our wedding. My assistant made the appointment months ago. We’re to meet with Sidney Linklater.”
His gray mustache twitches as he searches through his phone. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have an appointment listed for you. Perhaps–”
“Nonsense,” I snap. “Get Ms. Linklater out here. She knows everything about it.”