Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
As we’re met with her back, she double taps the lobby button that’s already lit up and then crosses her arms over her chest under heavy exasperation.
The doors close as if she made a difference, which causes me to grin to myself.
Not sure why this is entertaining. Too many late nights working and exhaustion finally kicking in, I’ve officially lost my sense of humor? Not enough fun in my life so something basic is a highlight? Maybe entertaining is the wrong word. Mildly amusing works better, but I still chuckle, even knowing it would be wiser if I kept my mouth shut.
I study the shape of her body and the way her shoulders meet her neck in a graceful curve, the small straps loop over them as if that could possibly drag my attention away from that face. Even her profile is sharp at the chin, giving it a heart-shaped tip. Does she want a job? She’s not dressed for it, though I appreciate how her dress cinches in at the waist and then blossoms to the span of her hips. She’s quite beautiful. Tempting fate, I ask, “Bad day?”
She glances over her shoulder, not making eye contact. Her gaze still takes full advantage of the opportunity and slides down my body, even lingering below my waistband. “You could say that.” I’m struck by her acidic tone and sharp glare. It doesn’t suit her or the fine features of her face, the gentle slope of her nose that I’d bet money crinkles when she laughs, or the way her beauty isn’t overshadowed under the bad lighting.
It’s the fire that flickers in her blue eyes, carrying the weight of her anger that is most prevalent, making her even more fucking gorgeous.
Unbothered by the icy demeanor, just as she turns away from me, I reply, “I did say that.” The demand in my own tone causes Jimmy to glance over and glare at me like I need to shut the fuck up. I could listen to the silent warning, but where’s the fun in that?
Her head whips sideways on her neck so fast I wonder if she needs a doctor. “Excuse me?” Her eyes narrow under arched brows as the flames grow bigger inside the blue. There’s no dousing them now. The woman can’t hide her rage. Why is that so sexy?
I’m surrounded by yes people in my professional and personal life. It’s boring and predictable. Doesn’t matter how pretty a date might be, disappointment always sets in when I’m being used for connections, money, even sex. I’m not so bothered by the latter, but the former has me tired of dating altogether.
Under her fiery attitude, I know the only way this woman would say yes is if she meant it.
She huffs, not letting the chance pass her by to show off her irritation, and tightens her crossed arms. “What is your problem?”
Jimmy sighs, drifting back until he’s leaning against the side of the elevator farthest from us. Unfortunately for him, we still have fifteen floors to go.
Pushing off the wall, I stand upright before her. The short little thing full of ire and defiance can’t be more than five-two, five-three on a good day. Apparently, it’s a bad day, though, or so she alludes, so I’ll hold off on granting the extra inch. “I don’t have a problem, but it seems you do. Back in the office, you were demanding to barge into someone’s office despite being told he’s not in—”
“I wasn’t demanding. I was begging. There’s a difference.” Her arms return to her sides, but her hands ball like kitten fists just past her hips.
“Why would you beg?”
The question strikes her pretty features with offense and causes her head to jut back. “I…” She glances at Jimmy, who has smartly busied himself on his phone. “If you must know,” she says, tilting her chin up while lowering her voice, “I need to talk to the asshole owner of that company, or my family will lose their restaurant.”
And that is why I shouldn’t have opened my damn mouth. There’s no getting out of it now, so I bite. “And what does the owner of that company have to do with your family losing their restaurant?”
“The asshole, you mean?” Her eyes are wide as her lashes flutter innocence in direct contradiction to the swear words escaping her mouth.
“Yes, the asshole,” I reply, chuckling. “What’s the story?”
When the elevator suddenly jolts to an abrupt stop, I grab her arms reflexively to steady her. But playing with fire will get any man burned when she’s the one lighting the torch. I drop my hands back and tuck them in my pockets. As expected, no thank-you for saving her life comes, but the dirty look that follows could make most men shrivel. I’m not most men.