Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 603(@200wpm)___ 483(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Olivia traced the rim of her glass with one manicured finger. “Unfortunately,” she paused for a controlled laugh, “the modernization of the vineyard house has aged the stables where Mother keeps her Hanoverians.” She waved her hand as if swatting away the privilege, a gesture so practiced it lost all self-awareness. “No doubt they’ll be renovated next.”
Olivia was a means to an end, not as leverage to manipulate her father’s vote, but because they had both reached a season in life when all signs signaled it was time to settle down. They were well suited. She was pretty, had the right background to match the sort of future Soren desired, and she understood how the world worked for people like them.
“Right, the horses.” Another memory he’d nearly forgotten.
If not for the Botox, her brow would have moved when she smiled. “Do you still ride?”
“No. Not since I was young.”
“You should come to the estate, tour the vineyard and see if you still enjoy it. I’d love to take you out. With the leaves already turning, it’s sure to be a beautiful ride.”
“I’ll have to look at my schedule.” He lifted his cocktail, already deciding he wouldn’t have the time.
“I could arrange dinner afterward, possibly ask my father to join us.” She certainly knew where her leverage lay.
Soren steeled his expression so as not to appear too eager. “As I said, I’ll check my schedule and see what I have available, then you can run those dates by Warren.”
Olivia leaned forward just enough for the candlelight to catch the hollow of her collarbone. “I always think it says everything about a man, the way he handles my father after two bottles of Montrachet. Most of them don’t survive the first.” She lifted the glass to her lips, her eyes studying his over the rim. “Something tells me you’d get his approval.”
Flattery used to land on him. Lately, it landed like humidity on a still day.
He cleared his throat again and leaned back. “I shared a drink with your father at the Maritime Commerce Summit in Boston last spring. We talked for about forty minutes over scotch.”
“So you know what I mean when I say he’s meticulous.”
Soren nodded and let his thumb trace the base of his tumbler, the condensation cool against his skin. “Some say the same about me.”
“Daddy has always been a man to go full-tilt after every acquisition. My mother thinks that’s where I get my headstrong nature from.”
A year ago, he would have matched her smile and filed every detail away, cataloging her like a promising acquisition. Tonight, every attractive trait seemed rehearsed, every orchestrated offer a little more pointed.
No woman of stature had raised his pulse in months. And every week these dates with various women of social status felt more and more like an interview process for a position he wasn’t even sure he wanted.
Olivia continued detailing her family’s current events like a soft sales pitch, as if greasing him up for future in-laws. She wasn’t difficult company to keep. She was poised, cultured, educated, and an heiress to a long line of generational wealth that rendered her perfectly indifferent to his own fortune.
She wouldn’t take a prenup personally. She was the type of woman who would have one of her own. Their lawyers would form a relationship, likely exchanging Christmas cards every holiday.
So why wasn’t he interested?
His attention drifted to the window where the harbor lights bled across the dark water in long, wavering streaks. Olivia was saying all the right things. Every word out of her mouth was an open door, an invitation to walk into the type of life he planned and wanted, yet he couldn’t be less interested.
Aged bourbon filled his mouth as he let her continue on. The dessert plates had long been swept away. She was merely biding time until he invited her back to his place.
Until? If—he amended.
His eyes dropped to her tasteful décolletage, her body another carefully revealed asset in the presentation. His body registered none of it.
“And you know how that goes,” she said with a delicate laugh. “I swear, my mother’s run through sixteen maids in the last six months.”
Soren’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
He could fuck her. She was waiting for it. Then he could say he had an early morning meeting and push her off for a week or two before needing to sit through another dinner. By then, maybe he would have his head on straight.
His focus returned to her glossy lips. She would make an agreeable wife. Expensive, but agreeable, performing whatever the arrangement required as far as maintaining appropriate social connections, hosting annual galas, and seeing that the children were well educated and reared toward Ivy League schools.
As long as the diamond and allowance met her standards, the marriage would be the low-maintenance sort. He inwardly sighed. Low-maintenance and lackluster, year after year, in perfect civility. They might even get a few decades of fidelity before she busied herself with the pool boy or the gardener. Where would that leave him?