Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
So much for ignoring the world’s angriest hard-on.
She catches my eye, and I stare back grimly.
“All dressed up today.” I can’t help calling it out.
Does she have a date with the fucking playing card later?
She raises an eyebrow. “Is that a good thing?”
“An observation. Nothing more.” I hold her gaze.
“An odd one. Does that mean I’ve been dressed down every other time you’ve seen me?”
Yeah, it’s time to shut up now. I put the paintbrush on the pallet and stand, straightening my shirt.
“Right. I forgot you have no filter—”
“Excuse me?”
She shrugs. “See? I can make observations too.”
“It seems like you two can manage.” Benson clears his throat loudly. “I’ll just let myself out.”
He exits the room.
I’m glued to those cool jade eyes again. “You never answered my question.”
“There’s a reason for that. The last time I gave you an honest answer, I thought you wouldn’t speak to me for a week.”
“Yet you summoned me here.” She steps closer. “You paint?”
“I dabble,” I bite off.
She studies the canvas for a moment. “Not bad. Who knew you expressed yourself in images? Makes sense, considering your verbal skills.”
I get that about my paintings a lot, and usually with a lot more subtlety than this terrible woman offers.
But somehow, it’s different coming from her.
“My verbal skills are fine, and I suspect my art isn’t what you came to discuss.”
She looks at me and shrugs.
“I’ll cut to the chase then. Pinnacle Pointe was founded on fishing, and the industry is thriving to this day. Focusing on the beauty of the sea should be a good way to bring in tourists. Boaters and fishermen are big spenders, and if there’s one thing the town is after, it’s more revenue.”
She cocks her head. “I hope you don’t think I’m going out on some rickety boat to shoot videos. It won’t happen.”
“No. You’ll borrow my yacht and let Smokey Dave do the only thing he does best.”
Her face relaxes.
“So charitable. I don’t know how my grandma stood you as a neighbor all these years.”
My jaw tightens.
I catch myself before I tell her that her grandmother and I were actually family friends.
The only person who treated me as a person, and not just the rich, reclusive shut-in who only shows up in town a few times a year for a drink or art supplies.
No point in correcting the record, though.
It wouldn’t make a difference.
Jennifer Landers can’t see me as anything except a jackass billionaire, and that’s all I’ll ever be to her.
“You should go home and dress for an evening on the ship,” I say.
She stares. “You’re telling me how to dress now?”
Goddamn, she’s going to drive me to drink.
Without a word, I come around my desk and grab her hands.
“I’m advising you to dress for cooler weather so you don’t freeze your fingers off—let alone anything more delicate.” Her breath catches and my cock jerks. “You’re a big girl, though. Prance around the yacht in that little short set if you want to turn blue.”
I drop her hands.
She stares at me, her mouth hanging open.
“All this touching, after the bar—it feels unprofessional.” She swallows harshly.
“You’re right, but when have we ever been professional?”
Her chin juts out and she tilts her head back like she wants to argue.
“I don’t have many other employees who answer the door wearing nothing but a t-shirt—”
“God, you had to go there. I was wearing a robe and for reasons I’ll never understand, the dogs seem to like you. I didn’t know you’d be my boss.”
I step closer, the image of her sleek legs and ample tits engraved in my head. Even if she’s far more covered today in that jumper, my brain goes back to the day we met, her standing there in that robe and damned near nothing else.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t back away.
“And I didn’t know I’d let you stand on my feet for three minutes of some stupid boy band song from twenty years ago.”
She stares, scorn filling her eyes, unwavering.
I can’t believe I’m about to do this, but I have to try.
“One more thing, Miss Landers. As long as you work with me, we need to clear the air. A little mutual respect can work wonders both ways. No more games or mixed signals. What do you say?”
“Coming from you? That’s rich.” She laughs.
“What do you mean coming from me?”
“All you do is scheme.”
“You don’t know me,” I insist.
“Whatever. You hired me as a contractor over the stupid land and that’s why I wound up on your feet. You suffered through twenty minutes of pretending to like me—”
“Suffered? It wasn’t that bad,” I snarl through my teeth. “I hoped you’d see me as a person instead of a pest.”
She throws up a hand, pulling at a lock of strawberry hair before sweeping it over her ear.
“Yet you had to huff and puff and run off Ace, didn’t you? Because if I like him enough to stick around in Pinnacle Pointe, you won’t get your precious land. And this whole respect thing feels like a cheap psychology trick. You can train me into 'seeing you as a person—’” She makes her voice deep and puffs her chest out on those last three words. “Since you think that’ll help you get the inn.”