The New Hire :: A Billionaire Virgin Romance by Sage Rae

Author:Sage Rae [Rae, Sage]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2018-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

Penelope

A stick-thin woman with a sharp nose, wearing an impossibly strange, fashion-forward jacket with an asymmetrical collar (nothing Winnie had ever seen before, in a sparkling green that made her avert her eyes), awaited them at the front door of the restaurant. The woman puffed a cigarette, causing little lines to curve around her lips. As Winnie and the Russell brothers approached, the woman’s eyes darted up and down Winnie’s frame, and then up and down all over again. Winnie had never felt so on display, so much like the meat at the butcher shop. Her hands curved around her elbows. She tried to remain brave.

The woman tossed her cigarette to the ground and stabbed it out with her heel. Dan crept closer to her, dotting a kiss on her cheek. The woman grimaced, her eyes still on Winnie.

“This must be your new secretary,” the woman said, sticking her hand out. “I’m Penelope. Dan’s fiancé.”

“Really good to meet you,” Winnie said, her voice a bit too bright, a bit too country. Immediately, she blushed again, sensing that the woman was making fun of her in her head.

“Shall we sit down?” the woman said, her lips turning down.

Dan pressed his hand into the base of her back, guiding Penelope toward the door. Winnie followed, feeling Carter’s stern presence behind her. She sensed there was such tension, such animosity between the brothers, but she couldn’t gauge precisely why, or what to do about it. She was along for the ride. And although she ached to be alone with Carter, to banter the way they’d been allowed to the past few nights, she recognized that she was as much Dan’s secretary as she was Carter’s. She had to remain on both of their “good” sides, even if that meant listening to Dan’s boisterous, cocky stories. Even if that meant laughing at his jokes.

The French restaurant was long and thin, intimate, with white table cloths and shivering candles. The best-dressed in Manhattan sat, bored and sipping wine, gazing at their wives and husbands with dead eyes. Winnie had a flashing memory of the way her father looked at her mother, when her mother had the ruddiest, sun-burnt cheeks, the thickest, most calloused feet. It was nothing like this. It was filled with love.

Dan flicked his finger toward the server, who approached immediately. Winnie followed Penelope’s motions as Dan ordered them a first bottle of wine: folding her hands into her lap, leaning back in a cool, almost skeletal way. Winnie marvelled at this woman’s diet plan. What did it mean to be rich, to be so bony and cold? Did it mean voiding yourself of any pleasure? Winnie thought back to her favourite ice cream place at home—the way the liquid dribbled down her chin, and she licked it up. What were those thoughts? Why was she suddenly aching with homesickness?

Had she made a mistake, coming to New York with the Russells?

“Winnie, taste this wine first,” Dan said, bowing his head toward the glass. It had suddenly appeared there, as if dropped from a dream.

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