My stomach decides at that moment to gurgle. It’s ready for breakfast, even if the rest of me is ready tobebreakfast. I hurriedly braid my hair. The next few months are going to be such an experience. An experience of a lifetime, I think with an internalsquee. Winding my hair tie around the ends, I practically hop, skip, and jump out into the living room.
“…think that’s the stupidest idea in the history of ideas, Prim.”
I hear Whit’s voice before I see him. His back is turned to me, his phone pressed to his ear, his bicep peeking out from under the short sleeve of his T-shirt thanks to the way he holds it.
“Well, because I said so.”
I pause. I can’t hear who’s on the other end of the phone and maybe I shouldn’t want to. Should excuse myself and let the man take his call in private? I don’t, mainly because the cadence of the other person’s voice seems female. It could be one of his sisters? I liked meeting Heather last night, not that I get the sense that this is who he’s talking to. I don’t think she’d stand for Whit taking that highhanded tone with her. She was way too cool.
“I don’t have to give you a reason,” he adds, the words spluttery with laughter. “I don’t!” The knot in my stomach eases, thanks to his demeanor. It could definitely be one of his sisters. “Because it’s fucking inconvenient, that’s why.”
Note to self: learn to swear in British. It sounds so much less offensive.
“Tell them what you like. It’s not a public pool. You can’t traipse in with all and sundry when you feel like it. Yes, I know your friend’s names aren’tallandsundry.” Pressing his phone between his shoulder and ear, he pulls a couple of cups from the top of a fancy-looking coffee machine. “Yeah, maybe. I said maybe next weekend.” He’s smiling as he turns, the wattage turning up as he spots me, moving his phone to his other ear. “No… and even if I did, it would have nothing to do with you. Yeah, well, maybe I have. So? Maybe I like them dirty.” He gives me a heavy-lidded glance, the kind that makes my insides thrum as a muffled parrot-like shriek sounds down the line. Whit grimaces, pulling the phone back from his ear. “If you didn’t want to know, you shouldn’t have asked.”
I pull a tall stool out from under the island counter, muffling my own shriek as my bare thighs touch the cold leather seat.
“I’ve got to go, Primrose. Yes,” he adds in the vein of one being worn down. “I said I’d think about it. Okay, see you tomorrow.” He hangs up and places his phone on the countertop between us. “Sorry about that.”
“Martinis?” I suggest with an unrepentant grin.
“It’s a bit early for me.”
“Your phone call,” I add with a laugh as he very obviously misunderstands me. “I’m guessing you like them dirty.”
“James Bond can keep them. I’m not a fan. It wasn’t martinis Primrose was squawking about. According to her, I prefer dirty girls to her company.”
“Excuse me?” I splutter.
He begins to laugh, the sound deep and rich. “She didn’t sayyouwere dirty. Not exactly. Her nose is out of joint because I wouldn’t let her and her friends hang out at the resident’s spa and pool. She accused me of preferring the company of dirty women to that of my baby sister.”
“And do you?”
“I prefer your company,” he says, leaning down his elbow on the marble. “And dirty, like underwear, is always optional.”
I’m not touching that. Not with a ten-foot pole. “She doesn’t know I’m here, does she?”
He pushes up again. “She was just guessing. As well as trying to wear me down. Probably because she doesn’t hear the wordnooften enough.”
“In general?”
“Probably just from me,” he adds with a shrug. “Habits are hard to kill.”
“So long as she doesn’t know I’m here. It’s just, I haven’t been here long, Whit. You’re the boss and—”
“You don’t want to be that cliché?”
I frown. “I’m not sure anyone does.”
“Can we just ignore that my sister called? Go back to how things were a few minutes ago.” He scoops up the coffee cups by the handles with one hand. “I’m assuming you like your coffee the same way as you like your men?”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“Hot, dark, and in your lap.” He gives a comically suggestive wiggle of his brows.
“That was so bad.” But I’m loving this side of him. “I get the sneaking suspicion that you’re a morning person.”
“That sounded like an insult,” he says over his shoulder.
