Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 83800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Bandera shrugs. "It's not mine. You'll have to ask Rooster. He drinks out of it every afternoon."
"Shit," I mutter, walking toward the cabinet to grab a different cup.
"Take it with you," Robert says. "It's fine."
"You're sure?" I ask, my eyes finding his.
His gaze dips to my mouth before he nods. "Have a good day at work, Morgan. See you this evening."
I watch as he walks away, his promise hanging in the air.
***
"It's understandable if you're nervous," Bandera says when he pulls into the parking garage of my office building. "If you don't want to go inside, I can take you right back home."
I want to argue that where I've been staying isn't my home, but it just seems like splitting hairs more than anything else right now. Even in my head, I can't picture my house as being my home any longer. Home is where you want to relax and recharge at the end of the day. The idea of my house just makes my skin crawl with fear and uncertainty.
"I have to work," I say, pulling a deep breath.
"I understand," he replies, and I can hear the honesty in his tone. "I'll be out here all day. If you need me, I'm right here. You have my number. Shoot me a text before you leave the building, and I'll pull around to pick you up right off the elevator."
I dip my head. "Thank you for helping me."
I climb out of the SUV. I never thought there would be a day when I was in a position to have an escort wherever I go. As I walk toward the elevator and look over my shoulder back at his SUV, it doesn't feel as glamorous as I imagined when I watched celebrities being chauffeured around town.
Vegas is no stranger to the rich and famous. With the way people think they can just run up and put themselves in people's personal space, bodyguards and security are a must, especially in a town that all but pours alcohol and drugs down people's throats. Because leaving Vegas with more than they arrived with is never the goal.
I keep my eyes locked on him after I step onto the elevator, and my heart races even harder when the doors close me inside.
I look around the familiar box, my eyes landing on the camera in the corner. As I ride up, I convince myself that Robert is watching me and will dispatch a slew of commandos if something goes wrong today. But when the doors open on my floor, all I want to do is close them back and ride right back down to the waiting SUV.
I know I'm going to have to take this step eventually. I can't hide out forever. Hell, bills won't get paid if I use up all of my vacation days and continue to stay out of work. I know that the longer I wait to take this step, the harder it's going to be.
I step off the elevator, dipping my head to acknowledge several coworkers as I walk toward my desk. I'm not overly social at work. The cliques that form in an office aren't really something I want to get in the middle of. I learned early on, after starting here, that a person could be smiling and joking with you before lunch, and then that same person would spread rumors about you by the early afternoon. I want no part of it. As such, I've become sort of an office hermit, although I'm cordial with everyone. I exist around others, but the interactions have always been minimal.
I find my entertainment outside of work and spend time with people I don't have to stare at all damn day. It was only courtesy to extend an invite to others in the office for the party I just had, and as I look around and see several people looking in my direction, I realize how big of a mistake that had been.
I never considered the aftermath of a group of military-dressed commandos with massive rifles running through my house and making everyone vacate during the middle of my party. Of course, no one has bothered to text me with questions or even ask if I'm okay, but I can tell by a couple of whispers that I won't make it through the day without being approached by at least one person wanting answers.
I place my travel mug of coffee on my desk, stow my purse in the drawer, and sit at my computer, wiggling the mouse to wake my system up. My double-screen setup seems so amateur compared to Robert's, and the thought makes me smile.
I will not think about how talented his fingers are over a keyboard.
I pull in a deep breath and open the program I need for work today before pulling up my task list.