Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“So…what’s with the outfit?”
I walked into a lot of serious situations, but I’d never been thrown off my game like this. My eyebrows dropped over my eyes. I could feel just how confused I looked. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, it’s broad daylight, and you look like you’re about to head to the club. That’s why I asked if you were married. Maybe you were out late last night and came home to all your stuff burned in the fireplace. Not the first time it’s happened…” She looked me up and down again, her arms still squeezing her narrow waist. “I get that sort of thing a lot. No one appreciates a woman more than a newly divorced man who realizes how much she did for him only when she’s gone. Doesn’t even know how to pick out his own clothes.”
It was hard not to stare at her face. Those eyes. That confidence. The front of her sweater was slightly tucked into her jeans so I could see her hips. Womanly hips. No one had ever spoken to me like this, but I imagined if she knew who I was, she would still speak to me like this.
I was fucking intrigued.
“Let me take your measurements. We’ll go from there.” She turned around and headed to the counter to get her measuring tape.
Maybe it was just the jeans, but this woman had an ass I’d never forget.
She returned to me and started with my arm, measuring the length from my shoulder to wrist. Then she checked the thickness by wrapping the tape around my biceps. She checked my shoulders, my back, the length of my torso.
Then she moved to her knees.
Right in front of me.
She wrapped the tape around one of my thighs.
I stared down at her, imagining her tugging down my jeans as fast as she could so she could eat my dick.
She measured my inseam. My outseam. My jeans were suddenly a little snugger. I was sure she noticed—and I hoped she did.
And then she was back on her feet again. “What line of work are you in?” Her hair fell back slightly when she straightened. Her shoulders were poised, her stomach tight, her spine straight.
I got lost in her features as I tried to think of an answer. Well, an appropriate one, at least. I was a straightforward guy, telling people the truth with blunt trauma. “Pharmaceutical sales.”
“So, you’ll need a couple dress shirts and slacks for work, and then some casual outfits. You know, so you don’t look like the Terminator.” Her lips tugged up in a smile, and her eyes brightened just a bit.
I think she was teasing me.
She returned to her place behind the calendar and made some notes. “I think I can have everything to you within a week. I offer free delivery, so I can drop it off at your place.” She looked at me, her eyes expectant.
Let the enemy see where I live? Sure, why not? “That would be convenient.”
She grabbed a pen and wrote down my address. “Thank you for your business. I have all clothing tailored to your specifications, so you’re going to love everything I pick out for you.”
I’d throw that shit in the closet and never look at it again. “Your name?”
“Laura. Yours?”
“Bartholomew.”
“Wow, that is a very unusual name.”
“I’ll see you next week, Laura.” I walked out of the shop and onto the sidewalk, my movements slightly hindered by the enormous rod in my pants.
A week had come and gone, and I sat on the couch in my living room in just my sweatpants, waiting for my guest to arrive with the stupid clothes I would never wear. I’d never worn slacks in my life. Even at black-tie events, I wore whatever the fuck I wanted. And if I ever touched a collared shirt, it was because I was strangling someone with it.
One of my men entered the room. “She’s arrived, sir.”
I gave him a nod in dismissal. The news was on the TV. Tonight’s story was about a shooting that took place in a bad neighborhood. Cocaine was sprinkled in the street, like bullets had pierced the bricks. Police were on the scene, they would book everything into evidence, but of course, it would never lead anywhere. There were no witnesses either—because I killed all of them. Imbeciles thought they could sell my product at a higher price and start their own business.
Bitch, please.
I turned off the TV.
Heels echoed from the other side of the floor, so I knew Laura and my butler had stepped off the elevator.
A moment later, they emerged, Laura carrying several outfits on hangers with a protective covering. “Special delivery.” Her voice was as perky as those tits.
I rose to my feet and approached her, studying her reaction to my bare chest.
Her eyes remained focused on me, as if in defiance.