Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
“I told you I’d handle it. Why can’t you leave me be?” She tries to swat me away with her oven mitt.
“I just want to be sure is all.”
“Well, I’m sure, and that should be good enough for you.” She flips up her middle finger, then goes back to the stove where a pot of chicken and dumplings is simmering.
“Where did she even get chicken and dumplings? I’m certain her boarding school didn’t serve that.”
“She saw it on some cooking show.”
“Wait, so she’s never actually had it?” I ask.
“Nope. But she told me she’s certain it’ll be her favorite and hopes one day she’ll get the chance to try it.”
I had no idea how Mrs. Putnam even knows a recipe for the dish. It’s not as if she’s ever made it for me. “Wait, why don’t you cook like this for me?”
She snorts a laugh. “Because your favorite foods are domination and revenge. Neither of those are on the menu here.”
“That’s business. This is food.”
“Quit your belly-aching.” She stirs the pot, the simmering sauce promising a hearty meal.
I check my watch. It’s almost seven. She may already be in the dining room. Why are my palms sweaty? I’ve gone into a million boardrooms and destroyed grown men without so much as batting an eyelash, but somehow Vivian has me worrying about whether she’ll like the food, or, more importantly, the company.
Smoothing my hand down my shirt, I smirk when I look at the sleeves rolled up to my elbows. She wanted me casual. So she can have me that way. I, on the other hand, want her naked. She was wearing this fucking adorable kitten outfit that showed me her soft skin. I wanted to just run my fingers along her sides, feel her shiver beneath my touch.
“Griff, are you going to start drooling?” Mrs. Putnam says sharply, and I realize I’ve been standing here for a while, just thinking about Vivian.
I need to get my shit together.
“You need to get your shit together,” Mrs. Putnam chides.
Instead of snapping back at her, I stride from the kitchen and into the dining room. It’s right at seven, to the second. I’m never late. It doesn’t befit a man like me.
I sit at the table in my usual spot.
I wait.
Then I realize I look somewhat stiff with my back too straight. Maybe I should try to be a little more casual for her. I pull my chair back and try to lean against the arm of it. It’s uncomfortable. But I keep doing it, hoping it gives off casual vibes.
I sit that way for all of a minute before I shift back into my usual straight-spined posture. Casual really isn’t in my vocabulary, but I have to keep trying for Vivian. She’ll be here any second. She’s late, but I’m certain she’s on her way.
Trying again, I lean back, letting the chair take my weight more. I feel like I’m getting the hang of it.
Until Mrs. Putnam peeks in. “Why do you look like a corpse?”
“Oh my God.” I sit up straight and glare at her. “Where is she?”
“How should I know?” She closes the door.
I can’t decide if I should throttle her or march upstairs to find Vivian. Neither. I decide I need to be patient. After all, Vivian’s only a little bit late.
Another pose, another five minutes. I get a crick in my neck from trying to lean on the table in a super casual way.
She’s ten minutes late. This is unacceptable. To a man like me, time is money. I stand, the crick in my neck making itself known.
“Dammit!” I turn around and kick my chair away. “Son of a bitch bastard. I’m just stiff, all right? I’m hard!”
“Um, Griff?”
I whirl to find Vivian just inside the dining room door, her eyes wide.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I right my chair and pull it up to the table. “Nothing at all.”
“Really? Because it looked like you were–”
“You’re late.”
“Oh.” She shrugs. “I was playing with mama and the babies. They are the absolute cutest. I lost track of time.”
“In this house, I expect you at dinner on time, Vivian.”
When she drops her gaze, I know I’ve fucked up.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly.
Fuck, I’m a goddamn asshole. “No, don’t be sorry.” I sigh and go to her, then pull her into my arms. “It’s all right.”
“Really?” She hugs me back.
“Yes. I guess I’m just sort of set in my ways. But I can’t expect you to do everything the way I’ve always done it.”
“I want to try.” She looks up at me. “I just don’t know what you expect.”
“I expect you to be happy.” I don’t know why I say that, but it’s the truth. I never want to see tears in her eyes or sadness on her face. She’s already had enough of that.