Pinpoint (Point #4) Read Online Free PDF Page B

hands, I sit up straight and glare at him. “Maybe I’m a touch naïve, but you, Oscar Alexander, are arrogant. Who are you to tell me when I need rescuing? That’s really quite rude of you.” I realize then my heart is pumping furiously in my chest as frustration zips through my veins. “Do not presume to know me.”
    Oscar leans in close; his spicy scent fills my nostrils, and his cinnamon-colored eyes twinkle with amusement. “I know your type.”
    Leaning closer, I pin him with my most ferocious stare. “And what type is that?”
    His eyes crinkle at the side. This man really has some nerve. “Innocent. Saccharine as the sugar in the cupcakes she bakes. Giving. Loyal. A romantic. Honest. And hopelessly trusting.”
    I gape like a goldfish. How dare he! “You forgot to add that I’m a talented baker and intelligent,” I say haughtily.
    Oscar tilts his head back, a deep belly laugh making his shoulders shake. “Shame on Violet for hiding you from me for this long.”
    As annoyed as Oscar makes me, a little smile plays on my lips when I watch him laugh. Something is exhilarating about arguing with Oscar. For some inexplicable reason, my voice box doesn’t close the moment he comes near me. He has the opposite effect on me. And I have to admit, he does have some of my personality nailed down. Nothing he said was negative, and truthfully, I am trusting and unworldly. That’s why I moved to the big city, though—to expand my very limited scope of the world from spending my entire life in Winter, Illinois.
    With a half annoyed, half-playful noise, I scoot away from him and resume my sun-worshipping pose. “My sister tells me you’re a chef.”
    There’s a discernable difference in his playful tone. Now, I hear a tinge of regret. “Chef, yes. Cooking professionally, not as much as I’d like anymore.”
    “If not cooking, then what?”
    “I’m spending more time behind a desk than in a kitchen. But those were the decisions I made in my career, and I have no one to blame but myself. Occasionally, I’ll dabble in event catering, and that’s how I’ve gotten to know your sister and Cameron.” The regret leaves his voice. “Today is too beautiful a day to talk about business.”
    A shadow blocks out the sun. “Sister, sister, do you want something to eat? We’re going to order lunch.” Violet stands to my right holding a folded piece of paper in her hands.
    At the mention of food, my stomach growls. Loudly. Blushing furiously, I struggle to my feet. “Guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”
    Then Oscar’s at my side, smirking. Nothing gets past him, especially none of my embarrassing social missteps.
    To my relief, I see no sign of Kevin or his teammates back at the reserved seating area. One glance across the deck and I find the Kevin and his teammates surrounded by a gaggle of scantily clad women. A little of my earlier tension releases with the knowledge that Kevin is directing his amorous intentions elsewhere. Oscar sits across from me when I take my previous spot next to Tucker. Apparently, everyone here knows Oscar because no introductions are made.
    “Iris, you busy next Sunday?” Tucker asks once I order a sandwich from the omnipresent server.
    Mentally, I run through my calendar. “We’ve got a wedding Saturday night but nothing on Sunday.”
    “Good. You’re coming to my house. Oscar’s cooking so you know it’s going to be fan-fucking-tastic food.”
    “You’re a private chef?” I ask Oscar in confusion. Only a few minutes ago, he mentioned that he doesn’t cook as much as he’d like.
    “Not exactly. I auctioned off a private dinner for eight at the Scrapers’ gala benefitting the Hope House. Somehow, Smithson scraped together enough cash to win,” Oscar says.
    “I’d love to come. Thank you for the invitation,” I tell Tucker sincerely. A little bit of my insecurity chips away at his thoughtfulness. Immediately, I start thinking of a way to show my thanks. Tucker loves my