Page 38 of Rim Job
“Come on. Let’s give you the tour and get you ladies settled in.”
His grip tightens on mine. I squeeze back.
I am so not going to fall in love with him.
We tour his castle—although, he seems to cringe every time I say the word. He corrects me and tells me it's not a castle; it's a country home. We see a ballroom—yes, a ballroom—and a dining hall that seemed to seat hundreds, with a fireplace the size of my bedroom.Country home my ass.We wind our way down a corridor full of paintings from his royal bloodline.
“Who are all these stiffs?” Evelyn asks, running her fingers over a painting.
“My ancestors. That one,” Rim says as he points to the portrait while Evelyn pretends to pick the painting’s nose, “is my grandfather.”
“Grandaddy is a looker. Is he single?”
“He’s widowed.”
“So, you’re saying I have a chance?”
“Ev, stop picking the painting’s nose. Rim, let’s finish the tour.” I grab Evelyn by the arm and link arms with Jen as I usher us down the hall to what Rim says is a solarium.
We enter, and two lovely ladies sit, sipping tea, with an assortment of dainty baked goods spread out in untouched perfection.
“Mum.” Rim’s deep voice echoes around the cavernous glassed-in room. The two blondes turn in synchrony.
“Rimmington. You’re home.”
The ladies rise and make their way toward us. Rim’s mother places a kiss on his cheek.
“Yes, Mum.”
Rim’s expression is blank, giving nothing away as to who this other woman is, but my gut churns.
What are the chances this is his sister or cousin?
“Rimmington,” the blonde high-end slut purrs as she strolls toward him, looking every bit the part of a regal runway model. She links her arms around his neck, pressing herself into his body, far too familiar for my liking. Rim’s arms stay locked by his sides as she raises up on her tip-toes in her high-dollar heels to kiss his cheek.
I hate her.
“I’m so glad you’re back.” Her hands run down the length of his arms, and she clasps his clenched fists in her perfectly manicured grip.
“Isadora,” Rim replies in greeting, looking down at her.
Definitely, definitely not his sister.
“Isadora has come to help me with the preparations for the ball. Doesn’t she look lovely?”
“Yes, Mum.”
I want to rip her long, perfectly straight, shiny blonde hair out by the roots.
“Rimmington, who are your friends?”
The bimbot finally retracts her talons, releasing one of Rim’s hands, while keeping her grip on the other.
Rim slides his hand out of hers, and a small spark of pride pours through me.
Take that, Posh Spice.
“Mum, Isadora, this is Evelyn Salinas and Jen Haner.”
