Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“I’m not going to shove her anywhere,” I mutter as I imagine her expression as I shove her on—full of?—something very hard and very specific.
“You’re sure?” The thorn between two sibling roses smirks.
My attention reels back. “Are your ears just ornamental?” Something in his expression pisses me off more than usual this morning. “And please, enlighten us, what’s with the smug face?”
“He can’t help it.” Brin stretches out in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. “Not everyone can be beautiful like us.” Brin and I share the same coloring, thanks to the Italian heritage on our dad’s side. El is fair, like Polly, and the rest of our seven siblings are a mismatch of colorings in between. Yes, seven. Frankly, it’s a wonder Polly can string a sentence together after raising all of us, let alone find the energy to meddle.
“I’m pretty sure smug and superior are mentioned on your LinkedIn bio,” El retorts. “But if you don’t want her, I can think of a couple of places I’d quite like to shove her.”
“Why would either of you need to shove her anywhere?” Brin persists. “Unless she’s got a face like a can of squashed dicks?”
“Valente?” El turns in his chair, flashing our younger brother a meaningful look. One that’s lost on him as Brin gives a shrug and a shake of his head. “You are such a twat sometimes. Amelia Valente as in Connor Valente?”
I can almost see the light bulb of realization switch on above Brin’s head. “Your college roommate, right? From when you abandoned us for sunnier climes.”
“Fuck abandoning us,” El says. “I got a bedroom to myself when he left.”
Back when we’d been a typical family before I’d started this company and hit the big bucks, I’d been desperate to get out of the overcrowded madhouse that was our family home. When I was offered a scholarship to a college in the US, I couldn’t pack quickly enough. It meant I’d have to spend most of the school breaks on my own, but it was a small trade-off for that level of freedom and experience. As it was, I’d missed my family more than I could’ve anticipated. As luck would have it, I’d been roomed with Connor and he’d pretty much become my pseudo brother overnight. We partied together, studied together, and he’d insist on taking me back home when college breaks rolled around. I spent plenty of summers at their house in the years following college, too. We were just really good mates. But in a cruel twist of fate, he died while he was on holiday in Thailand. I was supposed to be there with him, rock climbing, but I begged off at the last minute. Work was crazy, and I couldn’t get away. The weird thing is, for all the danger in the sport, he hadn’t died doing it. He’d passed in his sleep. Cardiac arrest, they’d said.
I should’ve been there with him.
And I shouldn’t have crossed the line with his little sister.
“I still don’t get it,” Brin says. “Where does Amelia Valente come into this?”
“She doesn’t,” I grate out.
“It’s some commute from Florida.” He grins. “Hope she’s not planning on taking the bus.”
“She’s moving here, obviously.” No need to mention I know she’s already here. “For six months, I think.” I turn my gaze to the wall of glass behind me and the million-quid view over the River Thames and the city beyond, wondering if I’d frightened her onto the next flight back to Tampa. It would probably be the best outcome for both of us because the image of her in front of me, trying so hard to stay on her feet, unbalanced and unraveling but taking it all like a good girl, makes me want to fuel the jet and follow her there myself.
Obviously, I won’t. For all kinds of reasons.
“She’s staying with some dotty old aunt, according to Polly.” At his airy declaration, I swing my chair and attention back to El.
“How do you know that?”
“Apparently, she doesn’t know a soul here.” He doesn’t bother to temper his shit-eating grin. “It behooves us to show her the same hospitality the Valentes showed you all those years ago. Polly’s words, not mine, by the way. She’s going to need friends. Really good ones.” Then the bastard winks.
“Sorrel!” His full name explodes from my mouth, my movement from my desk chair not dissimilar. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, do fuck off,” he drawls. Unfurling his long frame in the chair, he kicks one ankle over the other. El hates his name, but to be fair, none of us came off great in the naming stakes. Given that we were all named after some plant or other piece of ridiculousness by pseudo-hippie parents, things might’ve been worse.
Hemp, get your feet off the coffee table! Can you imagine?