Jamison (Beautiful Mine #3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

until I caught up to her. “You okay?”
    Her doe eyes watered as she forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. How are you?”
    The fur lining of her hood framed her face perfectly as her dark hair spilled down her chest. The blizzard we’d had the night before had morphed into a mild, sunny December day, melting almost everything in a matter of hours. Sophie was still bundled up as if she were heading into a torrential snowstorm.
    “I’m good,” I said, not buying her smile for two seconds. “What are you up to tonight?”
    She shrugged, a faux smile still plastered on her face as she tried to pretend she wasn’t fighting off tears. Her feet danced in place, as if she couldn’t stand still for too long. “You heading home right now? Why don’t I grab that painting for you?”
    “Sure,” I said, holding up my double-wrapped bag of takeout. “You hungry?”
    She nodded. “I’ll be right over. Just give me a little bit, okay?”
    I hurried up to my apartment, grabbing a couple plates and divvying up my General Tso’s chicken into two equal portions and placing my fortune cookie at her seat at the kitchen island. By the time I uncorked the bottle of red, Sophie was knocking at my door.
    “Come in,” I said, grabbing the giant canvas from her arms. She stepped in and carefully removed her jacket and shoes, hanging her coat on the rack by the door as her eyes scanned the room.
    “Wow,” she said. “You sure someone lives here?”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “It’s spotless. Do men really live like this?”
    “I take care of my things.”
    “I see that.” Her eyes fixed on the blank spot above the sofa and she pointed. “I see you made room for my painting already.”
    “I did.”
    She smiled, and I could only imagine how validating it felt for her to have someone love her work as much as she did.
    “Have a seat.” I pointed to the place I’d set for her at the island. “Wine?”
    “Please.” She reached for the glass I’d poured for her and took a careful sip. “You have a good day at work today?”
    I shrugged. “As good as could be expected.”
    “I don’t even know what you do,” she said, forking some chicken. “I kind of like not knowing, because I have this idea of you, and I really like it.”
    I chuckled and swallowed my bite. “What’s that?”
    “You’re always so dressed up,” she said, her dark eyes sparkling as if she hadn’t been nearly in tears just fifteen minutes earlier. “I think you work in money. Wall Street, maybe? But you’re not an asshole, though, so I don’t know. Maybe you run your own company? You have this air about you, like you’re in charge. And you’re kind of on the quiet side. Like you’re always thinking. So right there, I can tell you’re smart.”
    I smiled, never taking my eyes off her as she rambled on. Apparently, she’d been thinking about me quite a bit.
    “It’s your facial hair that throws me off,” she said, squinting at me from across the island. My place was dark, save for some mood lighting, and the reflection of the city lights seeped in the windows and cast soft illuminations on her face. “Not a lot of guys can pull that off, but you can.”
    “Thanks,” I laughed, running my palm along my meticulously and closely trimmed scruff. “It’s winter. It’s functional.”
    She took another sip of wine, glancing around my apartment. “You decorate this place yourself?”
    “No,” I said. Daphne had begged me to let her do it, but I never wanted her to leave her stamp there. I’d have sent the wrong message. “I hired someone.”
    “You have a very… distinct style,” she observed. “Masculine. Clean lines. Muted colors. Says a lot about you.”
    “Does it?” I glanced around.
    “You’re kind of a no muss, no fuss guy, aren’t you?” she said, hopping down from the bar stool and leaving the rest of her plate untouched. She walked over to my bookcase, dragging her finger across the spines of my