Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Yes.
“Will there be time for me to change at home-”
“Home?” my best friend interrupts, humor caked in her tone. “Whose home?” The poking of the situation gathers both of our glares. “You two playin’ house already?” Amusement continues to flourish in her expression. “Is that the real reason why you skipped the lumberjack festival with your dad? Too busy moving your shit into his place?”
“There’s a lumberjack festival?” Ptur curiously questions.
“Look here, Black Bolt, stop destroying conversations with your voice. Use your inhuman powers for good, not evil.”
Ptur’s interest deepens. “Is Black Bolt an ethnic group of the soulless?”
“You have got to start reading more comics if you two are gonna make this shit,” her pointed finger whips around our direction, “work for more than a fuck buddy situation.”
“We’re not technically fucking yet, so we’d call this a hickey making situation.”
His growl rumbles the entire floor causing me to once again giggle at his expense.
“Beanstalk,” I state gently placing a hand on his lower abs to calm him as much as redirect his attention to me, “relax.”
Between the touch and the nickname, he does.
“And just because you can afford to have the floors done again doesn’t mean you should, so shift your claws back into your shoes.”
Embarrassment threatens to coat his cheeks while his appendages resume their appropriate appearance.
“Why don’t you head back to your office and text me the details that way Kyla can stop seeing how many puffs it takes to get to the center of a dragon?”
She mischievously smirks. “I know it’s at least ten.”
“Is she always this infuriating?” He inquires, eyes back on mine.
“Yes, and I wouldn’t have Blade over there any other way.” All of a sudden, a realization hits me. “Is that why he’s one of your favorite Marvel characters?!”
“I don’t know…maybe? I kind of think it has more to do with me wanting to bang Wesley Snipes.”
Wanting to finish my lunch hour unpacking those issues is what prompts me to warmly dismiss my boyfriend from the room with a loving pat to the abdomen.
While a kiss goodbye would be better—infinitely better—I am committed to maintaining a professional workspace for the sake of my job along with his. We need to be respected accordingly by those who answer to us, and if we're spotted sporting matching hickeys during video conferences or slow grinding in the hallway like we’re acting out that Pretty Ricky song, it’s safe to conclude that will no longer occur.
Plus, neither of us need those types of rumors in our lives.
Rumors can and often do destroy careers.
I’ve done a fantastic job of preventing that from happening in mine and despite my pending Fated Mate bonded status, that will not change.
The end of my lunch with Kyla mainly consists of slightly awkward, slightly comical conversations regarding our newly acquired knowledge. Neither of us is pissed at the other one for theoretically keeping secrets, but there is a definite air of hurt that we swear to never let happen again. One we seal with our signature Scarlet Witch inspired handshake. Post her exit, I dispose of our trash and check my phone to discover not only a hopeful response from my dad regarding seeing me tomorrow but details from Ptur about the evening’s dinner along with a lengthy string of questions regarding why are there so many different comic books, which one is he supposed to start with, and am I attracted to any of them the way Kyla is. There’s also a single complaint—to no one’s surprise—regarding a lack of dragon representation. That little tidbit causes me and my inner warrior to helplessly chuckle on an amused headshake. Instead of texting back a soliloquy, I opt for a short, sweet, naughty response that includes the promise of a long, naked lesson to teach him about the various comic universes for “dessert” tonight.
I’ve barely finished putting my phone back in my side desk drawer when there’s a small knock at the door. “Come in.”
Zuriel Frankford, the employee in need of interrogating, steps into the room, just on the other side of the threshold. “Afternoon, Miss Pennington. You requested a meeting?”
My mouth lowers to answer, but the internal grumbling attached to the hairs on the back of my neck standing up prevents sound from escaping.
Problem?
Yes.
What is it?
Danger.
Where?!
That.
As in…the insanely high cheekbones middle-aged man that’s nervously fidgeting with his tie?
Yes.
And what exactly makes him dangerous? The dress loafers? The dinosaur tie? His overly chapped lips that could use some TLC?
Prepare.
Prepare how?
Scissors.
Wanting to continue to interrogate my inner orc is interrupted by the employee in my presence. “Miss Pennington?”
“Yes,” I politely respond on a professional grin. “My apologies for the delay in answering. It’s been a hectic day for meetings and wasn’t sure if after all of them I still required a follow up with you.” The effortless lie allows for a smooth segue. “I believe it would be in the best interest of the company for me to touch base with you, so please, come in,” an open palm gesture to the chair Kyla was previously occupying occurs next, “and have a seat.”