Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Will placed the mugs and the pot of coffee on the counter, along with a small carton of half and half and a bowl of sugar. “Help yourself,” he said with a smile, as he poured himself a cup.
As Jack did so, Will took the rolls out of the oven, filling the room with the yeasty, buttery aroma of fresh-baked croissants. Jack realized he was hungry. Will put the steaming hot rolls on the counter and moved to the refrigerator and retrieved the butter.
Returning to the counter, he sat at one of the two barstools there and pointed to the other. “Have a seat. We can go over what you’ve brought while we eat.”
Will pulled apart a roll and smeared it with butter, which instantly melted into a pooled yellow glaze. Jack’s mouth watered.
“Go on,” Will urged. “Have one. I can’t possibly eat all these.”
Jack took one and bit into the savory crust. “Thanks. I didn’t even know I was hungry until I smelled them.”
They drank coffee and looked through the catalogues, notes and blueprints on which Jack had drawn up a few ideas for the kitchen. Will seemed entirely uninterested in the cost of the project, focused exclusively on what he liked.
Jack was used to working with people in affluent neighborhoods like this one, people who had money to burn, but they weren’t usually as young as Will seemed to be. On an impulse, Jack said, “If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”
A smile curved Will’s mouth. Jack immediately regretted the question. He’d broken his cardinal rule of not prying into clients’ personal lives, no matter how innocuous the question.
“I’m thirty. Just celebrated the big three-o two weeks ago. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, uh, no reason really.” Jack felt the heat rise in his face and cursed himself. What the hell was he blushing about? What did he care what this kid thought of him? “I have two sons,” he threw out. “One nearly as old as you.”
“What? No way. You don’t look old enough to have grown sons.”
“Well, thanks, I guess. I’m forty-four. My oldest is twenty-five. His little brother is twenty-three.”
He watched Will do the math in his head. “Why, that means you had your first child when you were nineteen.”
Jack nodded. “Yep. Married my high school sweetheart.”
“Shotgun wedding,” Will said with a grin. Then, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s okay.” Jack laughed. “It’s actually true. It’s amazing how one night can change the direction of your life.”
Will nodded slowly, and for some reason Jack noticed his eyes were green.
~*~
To keep himself sharp and his investment portfolio up to date, Will had taken up day trading out of his home. Using advanced analytical software, his connections in the financial markets and his direct line to the trading desk at his bank, Will continued to make a very nice living without the daily pressures of life on Wall Street.
The phone rang. Will let it ring a moment while he executed a trade. Satisfied, he glanced at the phone and saw it was the office.
“Spencer,” he said brusquely.
“Will. It’s Guy. Trenton’s going to be here today, in the flesh. Power lunch. Chosen few. I think I can finagle you a spot at his table if you get your ass down here. Lunch is at one. You in?”
Joseph Trenton was the CEO of Will’s firm, which had offices all over the country and around the world. Trenton liked to hold what were known as power lunches but which were really little more than popularity contests, so it seemed to Will. He’d been invited once or twice, permitted to sit near the boss and bask in his regal glow. He’d been largely ignored, except when Trenton turned to him at one point and asked his name.
“William Spencer, Mr. Trenton.”
Jovially the large, beefy man had boomed, “Call me Joey.”
Guy Gray, a trading buddy at work, lived for these lunches, believing they were the key to open doors to more power and prestige within the organization.
Be that as it may, sitting in his jeans and bare feet in his comfortable den, Will found it hard to muster the enthusiasm Guy obviously expected of him.
Not to mention, he was expecting Jack at ten.
Today Jack was going to begin the gutting process, ripping out the old cabinets and, if he had time, knocking down the wall that separated the kitchen from the dining room. He’d warned Will the kitchen would be pretty much unusable for a while.
Will had spent the morning clearing out the cabinets, mildly surprised to find how much he’d already managed to fill them in the few months he’d been in the new house. Stacks of dishes and rows of glasses and cups covered his dining room table, along with boxes of spices and canned goods.
“Sorry, Guy. Can’t make it. But thanks for thinking of me.”