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)
Jimmy darts out and then stops to look back. “Are you coming, Warner?”
Irritation vanishes under recognition, and she steps to the side to block my exit. “You’re Warner?” Her arms cross over her chest again as that fury returns to her eyes. “Warner Landers of Landers Ventures?”
Would it be so wrong to lie to get out of this situation so I can head to a barstool to drink bourbon with Jimmy instead?
Probably.
Under a heavy sigh, I glance at Jimmy. “I’ll meet you there, Jimmy.”
Confusion wrinkles his brow as he looks at me like I might need the backup. “Are you sure?”
She stabs him with a stare when she steps off the elevator, and snipes, “He’s sure, Jimmy.”
Jimmy shakes his head with a laugh. “Good luck with this one. I’ll have a drink waiting for you.”
“Make it a double.” I get off the elevator just after someone hops on. When the doors close behind me, and my friend is exiting the building, I turn back to her. “You’ve got two minutes.”
CHAPTER 2
Delaney Bayetti
Two minutes . . .
Two minutes to plead my case.
Two minutes to save my family’s business.
Two minutes to convince this jerk that destroying the average Joe living in the shadow of his fancy New York City penthouse is not just a business transaction.
Warner Landers starts walking through the large lobby toward the exit. I double step to catch up. “I appreciate you listening, but I need more than your ears.”
He stops and eyes me, his blue eyes piercing me like a piece of tissue paper that never stood a chance against his sharp edges. “What do you need?”
“Your heart.”
Balking, he tilts his head back as a humorless grin splits his cheeks. “You’re not getting that.”
“Why?” I cross my arms over my chest, indignant to the insult of his laughter. “Because it doesn’t exist?”
“Funny.”
I shrug, cracking my own grin with a little pride bubbling inside. “I thought so.”
“One minute,” he says, the warning as incisive as the turn away from me when he starts walking toward the exit. “Good night, Jerry.” He gives the slightest acknowledgment to the guard standing behind a tall desk in the center of the lobby.
His quick stride resounds through the barren room minus the one seating area on the other side of it. His broad shoulders are straight with the confidence of a nepo-baby, which I discovered he is through my research. He’s cocky and rude; utter assholery all wrapped up in one annoyingly attractive shell of a man who is clearly vacuous otherwise.
The rubber heels of my favorite flats are quiet in comparison as I chase him down. “Listen, Warner—”
“Mr. Landers to you.”
Jerk.
I rush behind him just as he reaches the door and pushes through. The sounds of the city—car horns, chatter, even the wind whipping down the street—hits me just before the door does. Wow . . .
I shove it open and hightail after him down the sidewalk, and shout against the noise. “You promised me two minutes, Mr. Landers, and you’ve given me nothing but a hard time.”
He stops with his back to me, causing me to come to such a quick halt that I tip forward over the toes of my shoes. I catch myself and lower to my heels again, raising my chin and crossing my arms over my chest. I’m enraged more than I was in the elevator when I found out who he was. Glaring at me, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares into my soul as if he’s slowly picking the meat from the bones to leave me for dead, like all his other capitalist ventures.
“You don’t intimidate me,” I say, keeping my eyes set on his and trying to steady my voice. Though, I feel anything but that in this standoff. “Despite your best efforts.”
“I’m out of practice, I suppose.”
I can’t tell if that’s an effort at humor or a confession. I start closer, the gap shrinking between us until there’s only enough room for groveling, which is what I’m thinking he’s hoping for. I’m not above it if it benefits my cause. When he checks the time on his watch, I roll my eyes. “You’re behind the deal that will put my family’s restaurant out of business, or worse, work it for pennies on the dollar as you scrape everything good about it out and leave the scraps of what was once a thriving restaurant.”
“Writer?”
The question throws me off-kilter. Why would he ask that? “No.”
“Hmm. What do you do, Ms. . . .?”
“Bayetti.”
“Italian?”
“Mr. Landers, you’ve given me limited minutes of your time. I really don’t want to waste them talking about things irrelevant to my purpose of being here.”
“And that purpose is to have me wave some magic wand and stop the sale of your family’s restaurant like a Hollywood romcom where the hero does the right thing and spares the heroine’s business?”