Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
I turn to Talon. “Really?”
His hands slide in the front pockets of his ripped jeans. “Yep.”
“So, tell me, how did you two meet?” she asks, leading me to the empty chair beside her. Everything’s happening so fast, I hardly have time to take in the beautiful flower-filled urns that surround us, the soft spa-like music emanating from hidden speakers, and the crash of the ocean on the shore behind us.
Talon joins us.
“We met our freshman year,” he answers. “Took this long for her to give me a chance.”
He winks at me.
“What? Oh, come on now,” Camilla says, chuckling like she thinks he’s teasing. If only she knew the truth. “Irie, would you like something to drink? Marta made the most divine white sangria you’ll ever taste in your life. Mark, will you pour Irie a glass of the sangria, please?”
I realize now that there’s a man standing behind the outdoor bar, not smiling, not saying a word. Talon said his parents were assholes … but so far his mom is adorable. Maybe his stepdad is enough of an asshole for the two of them?
Before I forget, I reach into my bag and pull out her birthday gift. Talon insisted it wasn’t necessary, that she has everything an Orange County woman could ever possibly want and then some. But I didn’t want to show up empty-handed.
“This is for you,” I say, handing her a small wrapped box. “Happy birthday.”
Camilla places a manicured hand over her heart and looks at me with tenderness in her eyes. “Aren’t you just the sweetest thing?”
A moment later, she unwraps the gift and examines the small marble ring box. It’s the kind of item that looks perfect staged on a guest room nightstand or alongside a bathroom sink. Carrera marble goes with just about anything, and it’s timeless and elegant.
I figured with her interior design background, she’d appreciate such a classic, versatile accessory.
“This is gorgeous, Irie, thank you so much,” she says, running her fingertips along the smooth edges. “I know exactly where I’m going to put this.”
Placing it aside with care, she leans over and gives me another hug. Her perfume is distinct and overwhelming yet lovely—much like her home.
A few seconds later, a soft-bellied, bald-headed man shuffles across the patio to offer me a glass of white sangria accented with various floating fruits.
“Irie, this is Mark,” Talon says. “My stepdad.”
“Wonderful to meet you,” I say as we shake hands.
“Likewise,” He says, monotone, his attention veering toward Talon. He makes a face, somewhere between a sneer and a wince. And then it’s gone. Maybe I imagined it?
“Irie’s an interior design major,” Talon says to his mom.
“Oh, you’re kidding.” She swats her hand against my knee, her eyes sparkling.
“Talon told me you used to design,” I say.
“I sure did.” There’s life in her effervescent voice. “That’s how I met Talon’s father actually. He was an architect and we met at this conference in Pacific Heights.”
“I’m very familiar with his work,” I say. “Talon actually took us to the Gold-Harris exhibit a couple of weekends ago. Amazing, amazing work.”
As I geek out with his mother, Talon sits back in silence, his stare weighty and obvious.
“Talon.” Mark takes a seat next to him, slapping his knee. “How’s the new training schedule? Still hitting the gym every day?”
Talon’s chest rises and falls and his lips flatten. “You ask me that every single time you see me.”
“Oh, come on. Someone’s gotta stay on top of you.” Mark sniffs, like he’s teasing. Talon gives him a thousand-yard stare. “I only ask because I care.”
I try to pay attention to what Camilla’s saying—something about this “painted lady” she was hired to renovate in San Francisco when she was fresh out of design school—but I’m distracted by the tense energy I’m picking up on from Talon, a vibe that only seemed noticeable the instant Mark sat down.
I take a sip of the white sangria, saccharine sweet with just enough of a kick to it, and nod along to what she’s saying until the sliding door behind her opens and a teenage girl with wavy blonde hair down to her lower back steps out, cell phone in hand.
“Hadley,” Camilla says. “How was practice?” She turns to me. “Hadley’s on the competitive dance squad at her school. Last year they went to state. Fingers crossed we take home the big trophy this year.”
I’m beginning to sense a pattern with these people—the emphasis on winning and accolades and bragging rights. And knowing what I know about Talon, it makes perfect sense.
Hadley takes a seat in a chair at the far end of the table, nose buried in her phone. She’s here but she isn’t. She’s simply making an appearance.
“Hadley, have you met your brother’s girlfriend?” Camilla asks. “Come say hi to Irie.”
The blonde glances up from her phone for half of a second before returning her attention to her screen and staying planted.