Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Holy shit.
Rafe’s company has got it going on. This is one hell of a body positive campaign, and I had no idea. There’s a model with plenty of padding around the waist, a guy who’s a beanpole, a dude with a dad bod.
Sweet.
They’re every color and kind of man with one thing in common. They look sexy as fuck in Rafe Rodman underwear.
You do you, indeed.
As I admire the display, I catch sight of a familiar face. My buddy Tanner is here, and he strides over to me and claps my back.
“We meet again,” he says.
I glance at the walls. “Why are you not up there? Oh, wait. They wanted me,” I say.
He rolls his dark eyes. “Don’t you worry about me. I have plenty of partnerships.”
“So you’re here to see my hotness. I get it.”
He laughs. “I came here because it’s the place to be,” he says, and the comment strikes me as similar to what Finn said.
I spot the intrepid reporter chatting with a gray-haired man in a suit, probably a front-office type. Tanner follows my gaze, and I can tell when he reaches Finn by the way the air rushes out of him.
“What’s the story with Finn Michaels?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at my friend.
Tanner tenses for a few seconds, then shrugs. “No idea. That guy is . . . intense.”
There is a story there, I’m sure, but no one’s sharing it tonight.
Theresa sails over to me, decked out in a gold sequined dress that shows off her toned arms. “Let’s have a drink next time I’m here,” I tell Tanner, so I can focus on Theresa.
“Sounds like a plan,” he answers, then circulates through the crowd.
I turn to the lady, dropping a kiss onto her cheek. “You look gorgeous,” I tell her, giving her an approving look from head to toe.
She squeezes my arm. “And you look fantastic. I have some bloggers and influencers I want to introduce you to.”
“I can’t wait,” I say with a smile. “But, quick question—I wondered if there’s any chance my little brother can hitch a ride on the plane with me tomorrow? If that’s too much, no biggie.”
She smiles. “That shouldn’t be a problem. There’s room. I won’t be there, but I’ll send along the details. I’m catching a flight to Miami in the morning to finalize our shoot plans with Matthew,” she says.
“Oh great,” I reply. “So you’ll enjoy a working vacation too?”
“Ah, sadly not. After that I’m off to London as soon as the camera starts rolling.” She gestures to her peep-toe shoes. “I’ll barely have time to get my feet in the ocean before I’ll be heading across the ocean for work.”
Ah, the Bespoke deal. I remember reading in the news that Rafe’s deal won’t close until the end of next month.
Then she guides me through the affair, introducing me to people. No surprise, I glimpse Tanner chatting with Finn, after all. Tanner holds a beer, Finn a tumbler of liquor, but their glasses look full, almost like the drinks are props.
What is up with the two of them?
But I let the question go as Theresa makes intros for me, and pop music plays, and waiters serve sushi appetizers.
I told myself not to expect to see Rafe, but the entire time I’m making small talk, I can’t shake a foolish hope that I will.
Then, as the event winds down, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. My throat goes dry.
I turn my head toward the door, and just like that, my pulse rockets to the stratosphere. Rafe walks into the ballroom and sweeps the crowd with his gaze.
He wears a tailored suit, no tie, and a nine o’clock stubble I want to rub my cheek against until my skin sizzles.
He weaves through the guests, nodding hello here, setting a hand on a shoulder there, flashing a smile.
And I stand staring at him stupidly, hoping he’s coming for me.
Get a grip, Gunnar.
He’s the CEO. He owns the company. Of course he’s here.
But he’s moving through the room with purpose, crossing through the crowds like he’s here for a reason.
My skin goes hot, but my heart goes cold.
I’m so not over him.
44
THE VIEW FROM THE BALCONY
Gunnar
Rafe is unstoppable.
In that black suit, purple shirt, and no tie, he’s coming for me, and I hate that I’m vibrating at the thought of being near him.
I will myself to feel nothing.
I can’t let myself fall for the guy again. He’s unavailable. He made that crystal clear.
But in three more seconds, he’ll be right in front of me.
Three, two, one . . .
He stops. “Gunnar.”
“Rafe.”
His brown eyes are hard as they lock with mine. “I need to talk to you.”
What the hell?
He disappears to another continent and then demands an audience?
Fuck that. Screw the way my skin is buzzing. Fuck the way my cells are humming.