Friends to Lovers by Christi Barth Read Free Book Online Page B

for instance, the fact that an overly entitled group of twentysomethings stoned out of their minds caused the toilets to overflow in half the suites on the eighteenth floor?”
    Ben snickered. “Sheep, huh?” He rolled into a belly laugh.
    If Gib wasn’t the one stuck managing hundreds of acres from afar, responsible for the livelihood of all the people who worked his farm, he’d probably laugh, too. “It is every bit as uninteresting as it sounds, I promise.”
    “Sorry—I’m picturing you in overalls with a pitchfork over one shoulder. Does Armani make overalls? I can’t wait to tell Sam that you’re a farmer.”
    Gib jerked a thumb at the door to shoo him away. “Go now, why don’t you? I’m very busy.”
    Ben slapped the edge of the flat-screen monitor to skew it toward him. “You’re on Twitter. You’re not busy. Twitter’s no excuse for skipping a workout.”
    “It is today.”
    “Didn’t even know you had an account.” He peered intently at the screen. “What’s your handle?”
    “I don’t have one. I’m on the hotel’s account.” Gib returned the monitor to its proper position. He didn’t need Ben sticking his nose into this particular project.
    “Checking for gripes from your staff?”
    “No. What? My staff are still reveling in the glory of the Christmas bonuses signed by yours truly.” Now that Gib thought more about it, Ben might be able to help. As long as he could put up with the unavoidable mocking. “I needed a way to contact the public, and this seemed easy. That is, until I realized I’d have to constrain my considerable thoughts into such a tiny space.”
    “What the hell are you tweeting about?”
    Gib leaned back in his ergonomic miracle of a chair and steepled his fingers. “I’m trying to find Cinderella. Your stubborn fiancée refuses to give me access to the guest lists from the New Year’s Eve wedding.”
    “Her answer’s not going to change. So stop asking her to abandon all professional integrity.”
    “It’s just so damned frustrating. The identity to my mystery kisser is locked up in one of Ivy’s spreadsheets.”
    Ben crossed his arms over the black and gold logo on his hoodie. “Would you hand out info on one of the Cavendish’s guests?”
    Not unless he wanted the two-fer of getting a pink slip and a lawsuit. “No. Of course not. I just hoped that Ivy had more elastic morals than I do. But I understand her reticence. So I’m coming at this from another angle.”
    “What are you going to do? Stake out the bride’s house when she gets back from her honeymoon and ask for the names and numbers of all her friends?”
    “I can’t wait that long.”
    A low whistle split the air, as sharp as the crease on a really good paper airplane. “You’ve got it bad for Cinderella.”
    Pushing off the edge of his desk, Gib stood. Paced from one file cabinet, past the broad width of his desk to a display case filled with a smattering of the hotel’s awards and trophies, then back again. It bothered him that the pale gray carpet muffled his footsteps. He wanted to hear each deliberate stomp of frustration. “I must find her.”
    “Gibson Moore. Man about town. Lusty Lothario.”
    Those words red-lighted his pacing. He’d narrowly avoided a spit take the first time he read them. “The intro from the piece about me in Windy City magazine. I’m touched that you took the time to memorize it.”
    “Can’t make fun of you at our next poker night unless I get all the labels right.” Ben twisted around to face him, making the black leather cushion squeak. “The point is, you’ve made a name for yourself sliding out of beds as fast as you slide into them. To you, the city of Chicago is a giant smorgasbord of available females.”
    “Well, it is a city of eight million people. Seems pointless to ignore that sort of babe buffet.”
    “Exactly. And women line up six-deep to spend a night with you. Miraculously, whether you’re with them for an hour, a day or a