Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 49814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
"Bastian!" I shove my head all the way out of the window, mildly alarmed that he actually means it. "No. Get back here!"
His wicked laugh drifts back to me, and damn…that laugh is deadly. He needs to use it more.
"You are not fucking me at work!" I shout to his retreating back.
"We'll see."
I gape after him…and then slink down in my seat when I see Diego standing in the window of the restaurant, watching us. Crap. Did he hear me shouting about Bastian fucking me at work? At this point, half the dang town probably knows what we did in the parking lot last night. I'm pretty sure that muddy bundle of fabric a few spots over is what's left of my Spanx.
I drop my head back against the headrest, groaning up at the ceiling. What have I gotten myself into?
Yesterday, I was convinced Bastian hated me. And then he tricked me into dinner just because he was jealous. Somehow, that ended up with me in his bed—after I was sprawled across both the side of his truck and the top of his freaking island, mind you. And somewhere in there, he completely blew my world apart by informing me, oh so casually, that last night was his first time.
Bastian Grayson, also known as Satan in a Suit, gave me his virginity.
Either I died yesterday, and this is some dirty version of heaven…or this is reality, and I'm in way, way over my head with my cranky-as-hell boss.
I'm not entirely sure which I want to be true. I'm wild about him, yes. But he and I are complete opposites. We're not oil and water. We're fire and ice. When we collide, we cause literal violent eruptions, the kind that leave behind scars.
Since his entire family works at the vineyard, the absolute last thing I want is to become a problem that fractures the entire operation right down the middle and scars what they've built. I'm terrified that's exactly what will happen if things go badly between us. I'll have to leave, and half of his family will be pissed at him about it. Or he'll be hurt, and half of his cousins will be pissed at me over it.
Either is a nightmare scenario…but so is losing Bastian now that I've had some little piece of him. He's exactly as infuriating as ever, but he's also incredible. No one has ever looked at me the way he does. No one has ever understood me the way he does. And no one has ever set my entire world on fire the way he does.
"I'm so screwed," I whisper.
The best thing I can do—maybe the only thing at this point—is draw a line in the sand. If we're going to do this, it can't be at work. It has to be kept separate.
Somehow, I doubt Bastian will see it that way, though. He'll fight me every step of the way. And dammit all, he'll probably win because I'm weak for him. I've been weak for him for months, and I really don't see that changing anytime soon.
He was right about me. I misbehave and talk back and push his buttons just because I want him to crack. I want him to push back. And some tiny part of me wants to submit, not to just anyone, but to him. Because, God help me, he's the only one I've ever found who feels like they might deserve those parts of me I hold in reserve.
The complicated man is seriously complicating my whole life.
"Iheard a rumor," Haven says, sailing into my office an hour before lunch. She drops into a chair across from my desk without waiting for an invitation, her big doe eyes locked on my face like she's on the hunt for the Holy Grail and I'm the last keeper of that secret.
"He's not even at the office today, so I have no idea what he's done now," I murmur, trying to play it cool. I'm lying through my teeth, though. Despite Bastian's objections, he's been sending me photos all morning. And he might actually have a sense of humor lodged somewhere in that arrogant, control-freak body of his, because every single one of them looks like Trystan is having the best day of his life, while Bastian would rather be walking through literal fire.
Social media is going to eat those photos up with a spoon, especially when they see Bastian's brooding glower juxtaposed against Trystan's devil-may-care smirk. I'm not at all jealous at the thought of women swooning over him.
I'm also full of shit.
"So you're telling me that you weren't spotted leaving his place first thing this morning in that little black dress we bought at Zahara's last month?" Haven arches a brow at me, tucking strands of mahogany hair behind her ears. "Because Lucy says different."