Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
It’s hard to process what’s happening.
Evelyn Hibbing, Mom’s oldest friend, who only seconds ago could barely understand our company and never normally talks business at all, suddenly has a suggestion for expansion.
The silence goes on too long.
“I’d be happy to talk anytime, Evelyn. You’ll have to buy me coffee, though,” I tease. Mom smiles at me approvingly.
The surprise isn’t lost on her. She probably knows I offered out of politeness, but that’s more important to her than anything else.
Still, by stepping up here and being the model son in a business sense, I can stay in Mom’s good graces. I’d like to think it helps make up for never being the big family man Dexter and Archer turned out to be.
And if I can keep Mom smiling with my head to the grindstone, maybe it’ll keep her from forcing any matchmaking bullshit on me.
True to her word, Salem isn’t late.
I get to The Cardinal at nine o’clock sharp and find her waiting by the front door in black pants and a pinkish blouse, her dark hair pulled back from her face. She climbs into my SUV quickly.
“Mr. Rory,” she says stiffly as she settles in her seat.
“Again with the Mr. Rory shit? I said you could call me Patton.”
“What if I prefer Mr. Rory?” Her gaze darts to me and away again.
I snort loudly.
Goddamn, I hate being Mr. Rory.
That was my dad’s name, not mine. I’ve never felt big enough to fill his shoes just yet—but if that’s what she wants to call me, I sure as hell can’t force her to do otherwise.
Especially considering—well, fuck, everything.
“Coffee?” I ask, hoping to clear the awkward silence in the air. “I haven’t had my morning cup yet.”
“Sure.”
My usual place, The Silver Swan, is just down the road. I pull up in the parking lot.
“Best brew in the city in my not-so-humble opinion. The dark chocolate mocha will keep you on your toes all day,” I tell her as we walk inside.
“Right.” She tenses when we step inside and she looks up at the menu.
It’s the prices, I think. Her fingers go white as she grips her purse.
Damn. I never thought this place might be too expensive for her. She’s a mom on a budget with a kid, and somehow, I get the impression there’s no man in the picture.
“Don’t worry about it, it’s on me. Company perk,” I growl, grabbing her little hand as she reaches into her purse and gently pushing it aside.
“…are you sure?” She blinks at me. “I can afford a basic cup of—”
“Screw basic. Nobody comes here for drip coffee unless they have a screw loose. Pick something off the real menu.”
She stares at me like I’ve lost it.
Hell, maybe I have.
The girl behind the register greets us and I order my usual: double espresso mocha with plenty of dark chocolate.
Salem scans the menu and orders a latte that sounds like a splash of decaf in a glass of cream with honey.
Fuck everything about decaf.
I don’t know how people drink the stuff and pretend they’re doing anything to jump-start their day.
She glances at the drink in my hand and smiles while we head for the car.
“If I drank that, I’d be bouncing off the walls for days,” she says.
“When you work as many hours as I do, you need rocket fuel. How do you function without caffeine?”
“Oh, I actually had a little coffee while I was waiting at The Cardinal. I didn’t realize we were going to stop.”
“Common courtesy,” I lie, trying not to grit my teeth. “I thought you’d enjoy something from the best coffeehouse in Kansas City.” It takes all my willpower not to point out that the cup she’s holding now doesn’t actually contain real coffee.
Still, it’s nice to know she’s not a caffeine-hating lunatic.
“Thanks. It’s tasty enough,” she says, though she doesn’t sound like she means it. She glances at my cup as I put it in the cupholder between us. “Do you always like your drinks so sugary? You asked for extra chocolate.”
“You sound like my brother Dexter,” I tell her.
“The big hero?”
“Yeah. He likes to think he’s wearing a cape or whatever after one fight with a mobster.”
“I meant it as a compliment. You can’t deny what he did was pretty brave.”
“You compared me to a guy who took down a criminal enterprise.”
“I still think it’s a compliment.” She shrugs and fastens her seat belt, taking a sip of that awful concoction masquerading as coffee.
“He’s also a fun-hating health nut who melts on contact with sugar,” I tell her. “He only learned to tolerate a pinch of the stuff for his wife’s sake. She’s a baker.”
Salem bursts out laughing.
I hate how that sound sinks through me until I can feel it in my bones—and not in a bad way.
“Oh, wow. How’d that happen?”