Read Online Rest in Pieces by Katie Graykowski - Free Book Online Page A

diagonal and a huge round Mexican table holding a gigantic floral arrangement. I leaned over to make sure it was real. Yep, nothing fake here.
    I looked up.
    Beyond the table two glass doors lead to an atrium with tropical plants surrounding an indoor swimming pool complete with two waterfalls and three hot tubs. The source of the chlorine. The pool was larger than most five star resorts could boast. Not that I’d been to any, but I had free cable thanks to Astrid’s love of reality TV.
    Two staircases with ornate wrought iron rails—one on either side of the pool—spiraled up joining the five floors. Each floor was open to the pool below so that the floors appeared to be little more than a series of balconies. Sunlight streamed in from the roof, which appeared to be all glass.
    A waterslide started at the fifth floor and swirled and looped all the way down to the pool. I hoped he had an elevator because climbing all those stairs just for a few seconds ride would suck.
    “It sounds like you and your ex–husband aren’t on the best of terms.” Daman said.
    I peeled my gaze away from the surroundings. “We aren’t on any terms, good or bad.”
    New acquaintances always asked about my ex–husband. I never knew if it was to get the juiciest gossip or because they were making conversation or they didn’t know what else to say.
    His gaze lingered on my face. “If he were my husband, I’d feel the same.”
    Was I supposed to maintain eye contact, look away, or do something provocative? It’s not that I was socially awkward, it’s just that handsome men rarely lingered over any part of me. Usually, I attracted the wandering–eye types who live with their mother and smell like Fritos…well, except for Ben. He was cute.
    “If he were your husband, that would be a horrible waste of a very handsome man.” Monica elbowed me to the side. She had mad elbowing skills. She’d spent four years as a Texas Roller Girl. Her name had been Monica the Masher. That always made me think of mashed potatoes. No idea why.
    “Would you ladies care for something to drink?” He looked passed Monica and directly at me.
    “A margarita would be wonderful.” Monica flipped her hair back flirtatiously and it thwapped me in the face.
    Somehow guns and liquor seem like a bad idea.
    “It’s like eight–thirty in the morning.” I said as I picked strands of Monica’s hair out of my lip gloss. She really needed to work on the hair flipping thing or at least make sure she was a good five feet away from the nearest bystander.
    “How about coffee?” Daman put his hand in the small of my back and gestured to a silver tray holding a silver coffee pot, several china cups, croissants, bagels and kolaches. Did the mega rich have a stash of baked goods lying around on the off chance that hungry visitors would stop by?
    Here was a lifestyle I could embrace: carbs and coffee, my two favorite things. My stomach rumbled loudly. Everyone turned to look at me.
    “Sorry, no breakfast this morning.” Or any morning. I just couldn’t stomach the idea of eating until I’d been up for hours.
    Daman picked up a plate and filled it with two croissants. “Here. You need to eat.”
    He handed the plate to me and then picked up the coffee pot. “How do you take your coffee?”
    Over solicitous much? In the last twenty–four hours, two hot guys seemed to be interested in me. It was nice…weird, but nice.
    He was standing a little closer to me than was socially acceptable. In Texas, we like a good eighteen inches of personal space around us at all times. He’d cut that down to about half. He smelled fantastic—something citrusy and clean with something all man under it. I tried to suck in a discreet breath of air but ended up sounding like Darth Vader. Damn my nasal allergies.
    “Thanks.” Did I really have to eat all of this food? I totally could, plus I didn’t want to offend a possible drug lord. In the movies, drug lords were mean and shot people