Hard No: Secret Baby Enemies to Lovers Romance by Hazel Parker (sad books to read txt) 📕

gave myself an orgasm only a few days ago, it’s been a long time since I’ve had one with another person. This one was intense.

Of course it was, I think. Look who gave it to you. Intensity is probably what that man breathes instead of air.

I look at my handwritten notes on the kitchen table, the open laptop. Daylight is fast approaching, and with it, I grow one step closer to the weekend.

I crawl into bed and switch off the light. My body is tired, but my mind is racing, full of plans, plans, and a set of dark, piercing eyes.

In spite of my exhaustion, sleep is a long time coming.

Chapter 8 - Trent

I walk into my house on Friday afternoon to the smell of fresh wood and paint. I don’t want to knock off early from the office, but I want even more to inspect the handiwork of the work crews while there are still a couple of hours left in the day. I can always get some things done from home.

I had wanted everything put back exactly as it had been before the fire, and I am not disappointed. Money does wonderful things for peoples’ focus and commitment to doing a good job.

Trailing a fingertip along the granite countertop, I consider working out in my second-floor gym as opposed to addressing business tasks. I decide I can get both in this evening, especially if I start now.

Free weights this time. I enjoy the attention you have to give to your balance while you use them. Maintaining your balance, keeping your footing steady—it’s one of the keys not just to business but to life itself.

“Sir?”

It’s Curtis, standing at the door to the gym. He waits until I set the bench press bar back on its brackets before going on.

“Ms. White contacted me with her list of ingredients for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Cutting it a little close, isn’t she?” I ask, chuckling a little.

“She says she prefers to buy the ingredients the night before, if not the morning of, the occasion so as to assure absolute freshness.”

“Very considerate. All the same, think she’ll be ready by seven tomorrow?”

Curtis is extracting a folded paper from his inside coat pocket. “I feel confident in her abilities, sir.”

“So you did your homework like I asked?”

He nods. “Yes, sir.” He opens the paper and begins to read. “Stephanie White. Thirty-four. No children.”

Hmm. I would have pegged her as being younger than that. Maybe that is coming from her awkwardness. To be fair, though, I think we were all feeling a little awkward there at the end of our last evening together.

Curtis continues. “Both parents alive, living in upstate Vermont. One sibling, a brother. He’s a writer. New York.”

“Reputation?” I know that Curtis knows I’m not talking about the brother here.

“She seems to live to work,” he says, then pauses. “I imagine you know the type.”

I wave a hand in a keep-going gesture.

“Seven days a week, she can be found in one of the three restaurants she started in the area. Her third restaurant received three Michelin Stars last month.” He pauses again. “As well as a glowing review from the notoriously difficult to please food critic Angelo Tomasso only just this week.”

“Really?”

“Yes, sir. It seems Mr. Tomasso paid Ms. White’s finest restaurant an unannounced visit. Not a common practice, as I understand it. Usually, a critic will give an establishment the courtesy of notification, rather than just ‘dropping in.’”

“How, exactly, did she do?” I ask, although I already know full well. In my experience, though, you can never have too much intel.

“As I said, Mr. Tomasso’s review was highly complementary. This has been regarded as out of character for him. A number of his colleagues have wondered aloud if he’s well.”

I’m not interested in Tomasso, though. I want to steer the conversation back to White.

“So she’s more than competent. What’s on the menu for tomorrow? What does she want?”

Curtis reads off the list of ingredients. My experience with them is limited, but they sound expensive.

“White’s not pulling her punches, is she?”

“It would appear, sir, that neither are you.”

As luxurious as my hotel room had been, it’s still good to sleep in my own bed again. Thank goodness my house has a better than adequate ventilation system. Coupled with Curtis’s habit of closing doors as he found them open, it had kept the entire place from ending up smelling like a smoked sausage.

I’m able to get a good night’s rest and wake refreshed the next morning. I’m so refreshed that I may go into work today, even though it’s Saturday. Naturally, I could work from home and still get plenty done, but I find I’m more productive when I’m in my office setting.

I realize that I feel the need to stay busy to pass the time. The reason for this is clear—I’m looking forward to tonight.

“Will you be at the office all day, sir?” Curtis asks, handing me my espresso.

“Yes, I think so. I’ll be home about six, most likely.”

“For dinner at seven?” Curtis sounds doubtful.

For some reason, I feel the need to let him know that I’m taking a casual approach to the coming evening. “Time enough to shower and put on a change of clothes. You’ll let White in and get her set up?”

“Of course, sir.” He hesitates. “Sir, may I ask you something?”

“Sure. Just make it quick; I want to get going. It’s pushing eight o’clock here.”

“You had the kitchen put back in order exactly as it was.”

“Yes…so?”

“And you are having Ms. White return a week to the day at the same appointed time.”

“I say again, so?”

“So, I might have expected you to see if she could duplicate the meal she served you last weekend.”

I