Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
I asked Raven to meet me in the parking garage on level B so we could walk in together. Paxton chose this God-awful time because he knows I hate meetings before eight o’clock. It’s seven, and if not for the espresso, which I normally wouldn’t drink, and was crap, I wouldn’t be functioning.
I’m an early riser, waking before the sun, which means I hit a wall around eight every morning. It takes a quick workout to get me back in the game.
Today, I needed caffeine.
I’m standing outside my Aston Martin DBS, the one splurge purchase—aside from my penthouse—I’ve made since arriving in the States, when she strolls up.
“Nice car,” she says in such a way that I question what she really thinks. Her face is blank, void of anything resembling awe, and this car is awe-inducing.
“Nice car?” I question, taking her in. “Tell me what you really think of it, Rae.”
Her hands land on her hips. “Stop calling me that. Why do you do that?”
My eyes narrow in on her. This really bothers her, but why?
“Rae . . . Raven,” I say, motioning toward her. “You know, a shortened version.”
Her eyes sharpen. “Well, stop it.”
“Has nobody ever called you that before?”
She runs her hands down her thighs, drawing my attention to her body.
She’s wearing a black dress that hugs her curves and buttons all the way up the front, paired with a bright pink belt and matching shoes. The pop of color suits her.
“Not for a very long time,” she says, pulling my attention back to her face. A flicker of sadness washes over her, and I’m curious who the man was that she allowed to call her Rae. Clearly, it was someone special to her to cause that kind of emotion to show.
“I don’t think we’re at the nickname level of this working relationship,” she says, pulling my attention back to her. She’s eyeing me warily.
I shrug, trying to pull off nonchalance. “I think I’ll stick with Rae,” I say, determined to piss her off, it would seem. “Back to the issue with my car.”
She purses her lips and crosses her arms over her ample chest.
“It’s a nice car.”
“But . . .” I press. “I can hear a but in there, and I’m very distressed over it.”
She laughs. “Men and their cars.” She shakes her head. “But nothing, Charles. I like your car.”
My chest tightens when she says my name, affecting me in ways it shouldn’t. I like the way it sounds coming from her lips. Too much.
“What?” she asks, shifting on her feet.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not fair.” She giggles, sounding nervous. “What are you looking at? Do I have something on my dress? In my hair?”
The smile spreads, and I can’t stop it. “I’m only looking at you, Raven. You look lovely.”
The words are out before I can stop them. I mean every damn word, but it’s not something I should be saying to her.
Her cheeks turn a shade of pink that only highlights her beauty. Her head lowers, and she rocks back and forth on her pink heels.
“You really shouldn’t say things like that to me, Mr. Cavendish. We promised we would be professional.”
The smile drops from my face, and I clear my throat. “You’re right. I was trying to be kind. My apologies.”
Her tight-lipped smile is hard to read. In the past few weeks, the bright, bubbly girl I watched at Silver has been reduced to wariness and anger too much, all at my hand.
“Are you ready?” I ask, offering my arm to escort her to Paxton’s office.
She nods, walking right past me and completely ignoring my attempt at chivalry.
Probably for the best.
This woman is something else entirely.
We make it up to Paxton’s penthouse office on the seventh floor, which overlooks the city. It’s ostentatious and entirely Paxton Ramsey’s style.
“Mr. Cavendish,” Marla, the assistant, croons, leaning over the desk, her large breasts practically spilling from her deep V-neck floral dress.
She’s been trying to get into my bed since Paxton hired her, but I’m not interested.
Marla is a ladder climber.
Which is the last thing I’m interested in. She’s beautiful and exotic, but sleeping with her would only cause bigger problems for me.
I know her type. Too well.
“Hello, Marla. How have you been?”
She bats her eyelashes, and for a moment, I wonder if she has something in her eye. I chance a glance at Raven and find she might be thinking the same thing, if her tapered eyes and scrunched nose are any indications.
“I’ve been waiting for your call, honey,” she says, just above a whisper.
My hand lands on the back of my neck, the air growing thick with tension. I’m feeling uncomfortable with this conversation being as though Raven is privy to it.
Yet another reason Marla will never receive that call she’s waiting for. She’s too forward.
Raven clears her throat, pulling Marla’s intense stare off me for a moment.