Mr. Imperfect - By Savannah Wilde Page 0,91

a note pointing her to an omelet under the lid of a pan on the stove.

That was the only evidence she had of his presence until later that night.

When she came back to her place that night and found Mike editing some footage and interviews he had picked up that day. She’d been about to invite him to dinner again when she saw tamales steaming on the stove.

Between disappearing all day, taking care of the cooking, and staying behind his computer when they were in the same room, the guy wasn’t making it very easy to seduce him. Not unless she was supposed to just take off her clothes and straddle him in his computer chair.

Even worse? She needed to arm him with some mood-killing updates.

“My parents will be here tomorrow night,” she said, checking on the tamales. “I would invite you to dinner with us, but it will already be psychotically uncomfortable.”

“Yeah? Your mom and your dad?”

“Apparently. I just heard from my biological father today. He says he’s coming, but that doesn’t mean much. I’ll believe it when I see it. But my mom and step-dad are coming for sure, and it looks like Anton might be making it to the opening as well. I guess that’s what I get for serving his wine at the event. Now he feels like he needs to be a brand ambassador.”

“Makes sense,” he said, appearing from head to toe as if the news didn’t bother him. Well, it bothered Rori. How in the world was she supposed to get together with Mike if Anton showed up? “How long has it been since you’ve seen your mom?”

Rori blinked herself back to the present. “April, I think.”

“Wow. That’s a long time.”

Rori shrugged. “It’s not like with your family. My family is good with distance. You’ll get a better feel for the dynamic tomorrow, but the point is that I do want to take you out at some point. You deserve to eat at a nice restaurant while you’re here.”

“Yeah, Chloe was mentioning a few places—”

“Chloe?” Rori snapped.

“Yeah. She works in the museum. Short, spiky, blonde hair?”

“I know who she is.” I just don’t know why you’re talking about restaurants with her.

Mike grinned. “I like her vibe. She’s all rough on the outside and gooey in the middle. Is that a New York thing?”

“Yep,” Rori said, not trusting herself to say more. How was it possible that she was the person spending the least amount of time with Mike now that he was in town? And how had she still not gotten so much as a hug? If she didn’t know any better she would say that Mike was avoiding her.

Just then Rori’s phone rang, showing Fredrik’s name. She didn’t want to answer, for once, but duty had her picking up anyway. “Hi, boss.”

“We have a problem,” he said. “Your shipment just came in for the show from your agent and as far as I can tell six pieces are missing.”

“What?”

“I know. I triple checked, hon. I have no idea where they might be. Could you come down here and get your agent on the phone?”

“I’ll be right there,” she said and hung up.

Mike glanced up. “Emergency?”

“Isn’t that how it always turns out?” she said. “Will you be okay? I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”

“I’m good,” he said. “Go do what you need to do.”

Rori did, and by the time she got back Mike was in bed and the tamales were in the fridge. She didn’t see him again until the next night.

No, things were not going remotely as planned.

Chapter 49

Rori’s dress was perfect. Her hair was straightened, just like her mom liked it and her makeup was a bit tamer than she planned on having it the next evening for the exhibit. She’d gone to the salon that morning, so the nails on all four of her appendages were newly polished, and her body waxed of any hair that had ventured to grown beneath her chin in the past two weeks. To even the most nitpicky of eyes, Rori was in perfect order.

Now if only her mom would show up and witness the moment before something—anything—fell into disarray. Such relative perfection as she was currently displaying had a very unpredictable shelf life. Ten minutes, maybe? Rori actually had to make sure not to stand next to any of the A/C vents so one side of her hair didn’t grow colder than the other and possibly stimulate her natural curl. Nor could she sit,

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