Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 25616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Seeing her staggers me. It feels like a hand is gripping my soul.
She’s the type of beauty you could stare at every day for decades and never get tired of. Ten years of admiring her and you could still find something new, like the adorable faint freckles across the ridge of her nose and upper cheeks, or the captivating way her chin tilts up just a little bit when she grins, or the way her long curved lashes can bring a man to his knees.
I swallow hard as I drag my eyes down her luscious body from her army green tank top, low-rise jeans, down to her scuffed-up Converse sneakers. She looks like she could be the girl next door. She’s so different from the prim and proper women I’m constantly surrounded by with all of their expensive high heels, pencil skirts, and crisp blouses. Amber looks like she could play baseball with the guys and then give you a kiss under the bleachers.
Just the thought of those soft tempting lips touching mine has me breathless. It has me desperate to get her eyes back on me.
“Amber,” I call out as I make my way over to her.
She turns slowly. Casually. Like she knew I’d come after her.
Of course, she did.
But of course, I would. We belong together. There’s no other way to explain the storm brewing in my chest.
“You got me all wrong,” I say with a crack in my voice.
Her mouth curls up in amusement as she tilts her head to the side. “Oh, do tell. This I gotta hear.”
“You said I work my employees too hard,” I say as I approach, feeling shaky all over. “But you don’t understand. I don’t take this responsibility lightly.”
Her eyebrow raises skeptically, that sexy grin still on her succulent lips.
“All of these people that you think I torture,” I say, keeping my eyes fixated on her, “they rely on me. They have kids, mortgages, sick parents. I know their stories. All of them.”
I know the elevator will be here soon to take her out of my life, so I talk fast.
“I’m trying to save a department right now,” I continue. “It’s underperforming and everyone wants me to shut it down, including your sister, but I can’t. That’s thirty-three people I’d have to let go. Thirty-three people who would lose their income. It’s costing me an ungodly amount of money, but I’m keeping it open. For them.”
She lets out a low breath as she watches me.
“Just so you don’t think I’m a total monster,” I whisper, dropping my eyes.
I hate making layoffs. I refuse to do it unless absolutely necessary.
I still remember when I was nine years old. Sleeping in the backseat of a Toyota Camry with a wet winter jacket for a blanket. My mom crying quietly behind the wheel.
I can’t do that to my people. I won’t.
“I’ve seen what it looks like when someone loses everything.”
Her expression softens, and I hate how that hits. That look—gentle, kind, pitying. Like she’s just found a dent in the armor I spend every damn day polishing.
The elevator opens with a ding, but she doesn’t move.
“Are you going inside?” I ask, desperately hoping she doesn’t.
“Another one will come along,” she says as it closes. “You bought yourself a couple of minutes.”
For the first time today, I smile. She smiles back and the sight is staggering. I nearly lose my balance.
She looks me up and down, although there’s no sarcasm or witty comments this time. Just eyes full of curiosity. Like she’s seeing me—not the CEO, not the suit—but the man underneath it.
I swallow hard as her eyes come back to mine.
“When you put it like that,” she says quietly. “It doesn’t seem as draconian. Maybe you aren’t a total monster.”
“Thank you?”
She puts her hand on her hip and looks at me, and for the first time, I see the resemblance between her and her sister Willow. I’ve seen Willow give people that exact same look countless times.
“So, what do you do for fun, Logan Strickland? Or is this it?” She gestures around at the empty office. “Staring down spreadsheets alone at ten o’clock on a Tuesday night in a three-thousand-dollar suit. Living the dream.”
“Fun?”
“Yeah,” she says nibbling her bottom lip. “Fun. Has it been that long? Do you remember what fun is?”
I sigh. “It has been a while. I’m too busy for fun.”
She shakes her head like she can’t quite believe that someone as pathetic as me exists.
“Excuse my bluntness,” she says, “but you strike me as someone who has more money than they could possibly spend in a hundred lifetimes.”
I do. It keeps piling up in my account and I never really have time to spend it. I invest it, but that just gives me more money I don’t know what to do with.