The Broody Brit for Christmas (Holiday Springs #1) - M.J. Fields Page 0,46
train her on the economic side of the business. There should be another who will join you soon, full-time at first, then no more than twenty hours a week. When can you start?”
“Are there benefits?” I ask because screaming yes while jumping up and down isn't professional.
“Yes. I’ll have the information emailed to you by my secretary.”
“And what about vacation time?” Raff takes a sip of his coffee.
“Four weeks a year. Large discounts on stays at any Hawthorne property, worldwide.”
“Eight weeks,” Raff counters.
“Don't be ridiculous,” Beckett huffs.
Raff sneers, “Don’t be an arsehole.”
“Fine. But during my wedding and honeymoon, no staff will be allowed vacation time.”
“Congratulations on your pending nuptials.” I smile at him. “When are they to take place?”
“She’s being difficult, but as soon as she says yes, plans will be made for swift execution.”
Oh my God, this poor woman. He just made a wedding sound like a death sentence.
“Now, when can you start?” he asks.
“I’d like to give two weeks’ notice at my current place of employment.”
“One week should be sufficient.” Beckett walks briskly to the door, taking the mug with him. Opening it, he says. “See you both on the football field. Two hours.”
As soon as the door shuts, I look at Raff. “Did that just happen?”
He smiles. “Yeah, babe, it sure did.”
He steps toward me, and I ask, “Wait, what did he mean see you two on the football field? And why should I be so happy my boyfriend basically got me the job?”
“Did you just call me your boyfriend?”
“Slip of the tongue.” I shake my head, trying to erase the word choice as one would a failed drawing.
“Well, there we have it, we’re both fans of one another’s tongue slips.”
My skin flushes.
His lips curve upward, obviously amused at himself. “We have half an hour to get through this second date and on the road. Drink your coffee, and let me grab you some bacon and toast.” He grabs me playfully and pulls me into a short yet searing kiss. As quickly as he kisses me, he steps away, leaving me wanting more and heads to the stove. “Then onto our third date after the game and then, well.” He chuckles. “And by the way, I’m sure your resume is amazing. The job would have been yours, regardless. Beckett doesn’t hand out jobs as favors. Ever.”
I bite my cheek, trying not to smile. I’m relieved that I believe him. “I need to go home, shower, get clothes, and wait.” I shake my head, hoping to clear the fog caused by one Rafferty Graham. “I don’t remember agreeing to—”
“We have two showers in this flat, and,” he looks over his shoulder, still managing to catch the bacon he flipped on the spatula, “you look absolutely edible in what you have on right now, Red.”
After a very quick breakfast and a shower at his place, we walk outside, and Raff takes my hand. Although the gesture is sweet, it’s a bit shocking since Townes was never big on PDA. Unless, of course, camera lights were flashing, as they always were at the never-ending fundraiser events we had to attend. He felt it was tacky, and I agreed with him up until now.
When he opens my door for me and pops a kiss to my cheek, I can't help but smile.
“Stop looking at me like that, or my team will be down a center middy.”
I continue smiling as I slide into the car.
As he moves into the driver's seat, I lick my now drying lips.
“So, soccer?” I say, trying my damndest not to stare, drool, or lose my damn mind over how he looks in his tight-fitting white jersey with three black stripes running from his shoulders to his wrists, the matching white shorts that do absolutely nothing to hide what lies beneath them.
He puts the car in drive. “Do you enjoy football?”
I hesitate to even mention I played as a child and then end up laughing.
“There’s a story behind that laughter,” he presses the accelerator.
“I was definitely on a team. They placed me where I could do the least damage.”
Pulling out onto Main Street, he asks, “Is it something you’d like to learn?”
I laugh out a quick, “No.”
“Will watching bore you?”
“I’m going to go with a solid no.”
“You seemed to enjoy watching the other day, so I figured it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch that you may enjoy the old men's league.”
“Old men, huh?”
He smirks, a dimple popping, and I’m again entranced by him. He grabs my