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“He is.”
That’s strange. "Did he just get home?"
She nods and chuckles. “In a manner of speaking. This is a regular thing for him. You'll get used to it. It happens when he has meetings overnight with his international clients.”
Or when he’s coming back from some other woman’s bed. Of course, I don’t say that. I decided last night that I can’t worry myself over that either.
“Okay. I'll be down in five minutes.”
“Perfect. I prepared an amazing feast I’m sure you’ll love.”
“Thanks.”
As soon as Paige leaves anxiety accompanies the frustration I feel.
Damn it. I’d rather not have breakfast with Hunter. I was hoping for another day of peace before I saw him again.
However, talking to him is the only way I'm going to know what our plans are.
I met Corinne, the wedding planner, yesterday. I've heard of her before. She plans weddings, parties, and fundraisers for all sorts of celebrities who live in the Hamptons. She'll be planning the engagement party, the wedding, and the honeymoon, which won’t be happening until the week after the wedding because of Hunter’s schedule. It's something to do with the transition to his new position at Le Blanche Global.
Yesterday she wanted to get my thoughts on her plans for our engagement party—which is next Saturday—and on my dress. She thinks I look like a Vera Wang girl. In my state of mindlessness I just agreed to everything she said.
I suppose talking to Hunter now will give me the fine print details that I don’t know yet. Like what will happen after the wedding.
Quickly, I fix my hair into a ponytail then straighten out the crinkles in my skater dress from sitting for so long.
I grab my purse then make my way downstairs to the dining room. It’s strange; this is only my third day in this house but I feel like I’ve lived here for a lifetime.
I find Hunter sitting at the table, reading the daily newspaper.
Apart from the newspaper the first thing I notice is the black-rimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and the burgundy shirt clinging to his taut muscles.
He looks like a mash-up of Clark Kent meets Jason Momoa, or the male version of the sexy librarian.
I’ve quickly come to realize that Hunter Le Blanche is the kind of man who can carry off any look.
I stroll into the room and he looks at me with that flicker of interest that gets me in my gut every time.
“Morning.” He grins.
“Hi. Here for breakfast at your request.” I wave my hand toward the table, which is indeed covered in a feast.
Paige has prepared an assortment of eggs, French toast, bacon, pastries, and other delicious food.
Hunter inclines his head and stares back at me the way he did the other night. “This is the first time I've asked you to do anything and you didn't argue.”
“Maybe that's because you asked me. Every other time you demanded.”
He smirks. “Please sit.”
Wow, he said please, but he’s pointing to the chair next to him. I would've chosen to sit a little further away, but it's fine. Whatever.
I sit and he takes off his glasses then he stares at me, looking me over as if he's inspecting me from my hair to my face to my clothes.
"What?" I ask when he keeps staring.
“Did you miss me last night?”
