Page 63 of A Little Bit More

Mairi hit pause. “He goes on about how smart he is for about ten minutes. We can listen to it, or I can skip to the part where he tells me what he wants in a wife.”

“Yeah, skip ahead.” He’d already heard enough on that topic. “Let me get a smoothie first.”

Keir had met many incarnations of Ambrose over the years. They were the men who took one look at Keir’s muscles, tattoos, and Harley and decided there was nothing of value between his ears. It wasn’t how Ambrose looked that was offensive. It was the attitude. Berry smoothie in one hand, he pulled out a chair beside his gorgeous wife.

“Wanna bite?” She held out the sandwich.

“No, Rusty, it’s all yours.”

Her beaming smile warmed every cell in his body.

“Okay,” she said between mouthfuls. “I’ve skipped ahead.”

“What would I like in a woman?” Ambrose tapped his chin as though it were a question he was just then considering instead of one he’d probably obsessed over ever since discovering the opposite sex.

“Of course, she has to be attractive,” Ambrose said at last. “I’m more than able to provide a high standard of living for her, so I’d expect her to look the part.”

Keir swallowed the wrong way and started coughing furiously.

Mairi patted him on the back. “Oh, it gets much better than this,” she said as Keir’s eyes watered.

“I think some modeling experience would be useful,” Ambrose said. “That way, she’ll know how to dress to look her best and will pride herself on her appearance. I wouldn’t want her going to seed a couple of years after our wedding. Andsomeintelligence, of course, otherwise how will she understand anything I tell her?” He laughed with obviously false self-deprecation. “I socialize with some of the best minds in the business, and my wife has to be able to hold a conversation. I mean, she doesn’t need to have a degree in programming, but some education would be helpful. Perhaps from an Ivy League school. Yes, that would do nicely. Maybe an arts degree. Women like the arts. And it would give her some useful skills when it comes to decorating our home.”

“He’s something else,” Keir said with a shake of his head. Surely, this guy couldn’t be serious?

“She needs to be a good cook and know how to take care of our home. Since I’ll be earning the money, I expect her to take responsibility for all of the cooking, cleaning, shopping, and house management.”

“This guy doesn’t want a wife; he wants a housekeeper,” Keir muttered.

“Now, background.” Ambrose grew even more somber. “A nice respectable family is the minimum requirement. Upper middle class at least. Connections in the right circles would be good. She should be skilled at small talk. I don’t have time for that, so it would be beneficial to have a woman who could take that off my hands.”

“As well as everything else.” Keir shook his head again.

“As for sex,” Ambrose said, turning pink. “I assume we can have that written into the contract. I’d like sex every day and twice on Sundays.”

A bark of laughter erupted from Keir before he collapsed into hysteria. Mairi had to pause the video until he got himself under control.

“Twice on Sundays,” he managed between wheezes before cracking up again.

“Stop it.” Mairi play-slapped his chest. “Ambrose is serious.”

“I know.” Keir wiped his eyes. “It’s hilarious. Carry on.” He waved at the screen.

“She needs to be easily trainable,” Ambrose said. “I like my clothes laundered and pressed a certain way. And I have food allergies, which means my meals need special attention. I don’t want someone who’s noisy, as that would disrupt my work. No late-night socializing.” He appeared to think about that. “Can we ask her how many friends she has and how often she’d expect to see them? Perhaps set limits on when they’re welcome in our home. Once a month? I need to think about that some more.

“Oh, and I don’t drive,” Ambrose continued. “It’s not that I can’t. I just prefer not to. So, my wife will do all of the driving.”

“He can’t be serious,” Keir said. “Nobody’s like this.”

Mairi snorted. “You’re about to meet his mother.”

Sure enough, an older woman walked into view. Perfectly made-up, she wore a twinset and pearls and had not a hair out of place. Smiling at the camera, she placed a hand on Ambrose’s shoulder. “Have you mentioned your pet allergies, darling?”

“No, thank you for reminding me, mother.” He turned back to the camera. “I’m allergic to everything but reptiles, and I don’t like those.”

Keir started laughing again.

Ambrose’s mother nodded her head in approval. “I’m just about to take your father to his bridge game. There’s a meal warming for you in the oven, and I’ve mended your favorite Star Wars shirt. Is there anything you need while I’m out?”