Read Online Blitz (Emerald City/Black Family Saga Book 1) by Felicia X. Scully - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Felicia X. Scully
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so he sends me to freaking New Castle to spy on some man’s daughter’s boyfriend.
I’m a country girl, but I’m not a nature person. I hate nature. I hate trails, and leaves and mud. I’d rather sit on the bench at a golf green park in the city, than trek through an actual forest.
I carry my boots out to the balcony and turn them upside down, then head back into the bathroom and turn on the showerhead.
I sigh as I peel out of my tights and tank top. I’ve got only two hours before this dinner at the Carlson’s and I’m exhausted. Every ounce of me wants to blow it off. It’d be a relief to snuggle under my comforter and get lost in a Netflix marathon. I should just go down to the corner store, grab a pack of doughnuts and bottle of root beer and call it a night. But I can’t. Miraculously, I’m still in the game. Ray Carlson is warming up to me and I need to take advantage of that. It’s what Reese would do. It’s what she’s done almost every night of her life for the past two years. From one party to the next, dressed to impressed and always ready to go. I don’t know how she does it. I wonder if she ever will again.
I stand outside of my open closet, ten minutes later, staring at the monotone blacks, navies and grays hanging in front of me. I don’t have a clue what to wear, I realize. And I don’t have anything nice. I’m about to go to dinner with a potential client and I don’t even own a pair of heels.
I should have stopped by Reese’s place again. Aunt Paola would have found me something decent. But I don’t have time now. I’m going to end up sitting at the table looking like a kid. I eye the pantsuit from the other day, but think better of it. Ray didn’t tell me whether or not it was formal. It’s at a ranch. These people are country folk, just like me. And it’s better to show up in something casual than something I wore the day before.
I reach for a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, a navy tank top and a pair of patent leather navy flats. I still have the silver chain and earrings I got for Christmas last year. I’ll pull my hair up, put on a little eye make-up and lip-gloss and I’ll be good to go.
Regret. The six letter word that always shows up late to the damn party. Just like I should have. I have Ray's number. I could have called him. Told him I was running behind. Grabbed a decent dress from Reese’s closet. It would certainly beat showing up to freaking mansion looking like this.
I’ve never heard of Woodinville until today and there’s a damn good reason. A girl like me has no business in a place like this. I observe the scene before me. The house stretches so far across I have to swivel my body to take it all in. It looks like an oversized log cabin. I stand in the middle of a gravel driveway, surrounded by red wood chips and shrubs. The grass on either side of the house is as green as a golf course and just as perfect. Behind the house I can see the tips of evergreens and not a single neighbor in site. My comments last night about Ray getting a payday, thanks to my cousin’s skills, seem ridiculously misplaced now. These people clearly don’t need the money. Maybe it really is just about the game.
“Sydney,” Ray's voice breaks into my thoughts. “Glad you could make it.”
“Wow,” I say, side-glancing him before focusing my attention back on the house. “Shouldn’t you say something like ‘welcome to Carlson manor?’”
Ray laughs and I take step forward as he beckons for me to follow him. “Trust me,” he says. “It’s not what you think.”
“I don’t think I’m in Seattle anymore. That’s for damn sure.”
He leads me around the side of the house and I follow along, cautiously. I can’t see anything past his broad frame and, try as I may, I also can’t keep my eyes off the way his ass looks in those jeans. Are guys even supposed to have asses that tight? I mentally picture my own, deciding a diet’s worth of
I’m a country girl, but I’m not a nature person. I hate nature. I hate trails, and leaves and mud. I’d rather sit on the bench at a golf green park in the city, than trek through an actual forest.
I carry my boots out to the balcony and turn them upside down, then head back into the bathroom and turn on the showerhead.
I sigh as I peel out of my tights and tank top. I’ve got only two hours before this dinner at the Carlson’s and I’m exhausted. Every ounce of me wants to blow it off. It’d be a relief to snuggle under my comforter and get lost in a Netflix marathon. I should just go down to the corner store, grab a pack of doughnuts and bottle of root beer and call it a night. But I can’t. Miraculously, I’m still in the game. Ray Carlson is warming up to me and I need to take advantage of that. It’s what Reese would do. It’s what she’s done almost every night of her life for the past two years. From one party to the next, dressed to impressed and always ready to go. I don’t know how she does it. I wonder if she ever will again.
I stand outside of my open closet, ten minutes later, staring at the monotone blacks, navies and grays hanging in front of me. I don’t have a clue what to wear, I realize. And I don’t have anything nice. I’m about to go to dinner with a potential client and I don’t even own a pair of heels.
I should have stopped by Reese’s place again. Aunt Paola would have found me something decent. But I don’t have time now. I’m going to end up sitting at the table looking like a kid. I eye the pantsuit from the other day, but think better of it. Ray didn’t tell me whether or not it was formal. It’s at a ranch. These people are country folk, just like me. And it’s better to show up in something casual than something I wore the day before.
I reach for a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, a navy tank top and a pair of patent leather navy flats. I still have the silver chain and earrings I got for Christmas last year. I’ll pull my hair up, put on a little eye make-up and lip-gloss and I’ll be good to go.
Regret. The six letter word that always shows up late to the damn party. Just like I should have. I have Ray's number. I could have called him. Told him I was running behind. Grabbed a decent dress from Reese’s closet. It would certainly beat showing up to freaking mansion looking like this.
I’ve never heard of Woodinville until today and there’s a damn good reason. A girl like me has no business in a place like this. I observe the scene before me. The house stretches so far across I have to swivel my body to take it all in. It looks like an oversized log cabin. I stand in the middle of a gravel driveway, surrounded by red wood chips and shrubs. The grass on either side of the house is as green as a golf course and just as perfect. Behind the house I can see the tips of evergreens and not a single neighbor in site. My comments last night about Ray getting a payday, thanks to my cousin’s skills, seem ridiculously misplaced now. These people clearly don’t need the money. Maybe it really is just about the game.
“Sydney,” Ray's voice breaks into my thoughts. “Glad you could make it.”
“Wow,” I say, side-glancing him before focusing my attention back on the house. “Shouldn’t you say something like ‘welcome to Carlson manor?’”
Ray laughs and I take step forward as he beckons for me to follow him. “Trust me,” he says. “It’s not what you think.”
“I don’t think I’m in Seattle anymore. That’s for damn sure.”
He leads me around the side of the house and I follow along, cautiously. I can’t see anything past his broad frame and, try as I may, I also can’t keep my eyes off the way his ass looks in those jeans. Are guys even supposed to have asses that tight? I mentally picture my own, deciding a diet’s worth of
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