Ciao Lettori, pubblichiamo oggi un Estratto dal coinvolgente romance Stuck Up Suit, scritto a quattro mani da Vi Keeland e Penelope Ward ed inedito in Italia.
Le autrici ci hanno cortesemente inviato questa Anteprima e siamo felicissime di poterla condividerla con voi.
Per essere sempre aggiornate sull'attività di Vi Keeland e Penelope Ward registratevi alla loro Newsletter (http://eepurl.com/brAPo9).
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Il libro sarà disponibile in formato cartaceo ed ebook da giorno 11 Aprile, nel frattempo potete preordinarlo in esclusiva su iBooks ed aggiungerlo al vostro Scaffale su Goodreads.
It felt like we were the only two people in the world, instead of inside a busy, posh restaurant.
“This is beautiful. But odd,” I said.
Graham took off his jacket and settled into his side of the table with one arm casually slung over the top of the booth. “Fitting.”
“Are you saying I’m odd?”
“Are we going to fight about it if I say yes?”
My brow furrowed. “You want to fight with me?”
Graham tugged at his tie, loosening it. “I find it turns me on.”
I laughed. “I think you need counseling.”
“After the last few days, I believe you may be right.”
The waitress returned with our drinks. She set a highball glass down in front of him and a wine glass in front of me.
Graham had ordered Hendrick’s and tonic. “That’s an old man’s drink, gin and tonic,” I said as I sipped my wine.
He swirled the ice around in his glass, then brought it to his lips and looked at me over the rim before drinking. ”Remember what arguing with me does. You might want to look under the table.”
My eyes widened. “You aren’t.”
He smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “Go ahead. Put your head under. I know you’re dying to take a peek anyway.”
After we both finished our drinks, and some of my nerves had started to calm, we finally had our first real conversation. One that wasn’t about sex or tongue rings.
“So how many hours do you work a day in that big fancy office of yours?”
“I usually go in by eight and try to leave by eight.”
“Twelve hours a day? That’s sixty hours a week.”
“Not counting weekends.”
“You work weekends, too?”
“So your only day off is Sunday?”
“I actually sometimes work in the evening on Sunday, too.”
“That’s nuts. When do you find time to enjoy yourself?”
“I enjoy my work.”
I scoffed. “Didn’t sound that way when I stopped in the other day. Everyone there seems afraid of you, and you refused to open the door.”
“I was busy.” He folded his arms over his chest.
I did the same. “So was I. I took two trains to personally deliver that phone, you know. And you didn’t have the decency to even come out and say thank you.”
“I didn’t know what was behind the door waiting for me, or I would have come out.”
“A person. A person was behind the door. One who went out of her way for you. If I were a sixty-year-old married woman with blue hair, you should have come out to thank me.”
He sighed. “I’m a busy man, Soraya.”
“Yet here you are on a weeknight at only 7PM. Shouldn’t you be working until eight if you’re so busy?”
“I make exceptions when warranted.”
“How big of you.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You want to look under the table, don’t you?”