Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 156796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
But I’d shaken such a reckless thought from my head and did exactly what I was supposed to do, opening the doors to our offices and walking up the stairs to the reception area.
The clock on the wall told me I was five minutes late.
Almost unheard of.
But that wasn’t why Abagail was looking at me in shock.
Her widened eyes were on the motorcycle helmet I was clutching, before they went to me.
“The Sons of Templar?” she repeated. “You were on the back of one of their bikes? You?” Her words were not unkind exactly, just drenched with the rightful amount of shock.
Because I was somewhat of a staple in the office. I’d been there almost the longest, and had trained a lot of the staff—Abagail included, as I’d worked reception on break from college. They knew me. Knew I was a stickler for rules and being punctual. That I didn’t drink coffee, strictly herbal tea. That my hair was always smoothed, my hemlines always low, as were my heels.
I contributed to all birthday cards, made all the birthday cakes, and stayed away from all birthday celebrations out of the office.
I was friendly, but I didn’t make friends. Was nice without being warm.
And I did not ride to work on the back of a motorcycle. Especially not a motorcycle belonging to one of the patched members of the Sons of Templar.
Especially not one as beautiful and menacing as Gage.
So Abagail’s shock was warranted.
Marty’s eyes were fastened on my legs as he nodded. “Wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes,” he said. “And I did see it. A lot of it.”
His words and the innuendo behind them made my skin crawl.
My stomach swirled with the attention of his sleazy gaze. I had never attracted it before. Not once. There was always a prettier, younger, and bubblier woman in the office for him to prey on. I’d always thought he considered me part of the furniture, like the rest of the men around my age did. And I’d been glad of it.
I wasn’t used to being looked at like he was looking at me right then.
Nothing like the way Gage had gazed at me, sending my hormones into overdrive and my brain into chaos. A much sleazier and emptier way than that.
“Are you dating one of them?” Abagail asked, as if me informing her that I was an alien from outer space was more likely.
I shook my head once, violently, a small lance of pain erupting with the movement. I still wasn’t 100 percent healed from the accident. “No, of course not,” I said, stepping forward in the direction of my desk, eager to escape the conversation. “I wrecked my car. Their garage is fixing it. Gage was giving me a ride since walking is… uncomfortable.”
“Gage!” Abagail almost screamed.
I winced.
She pushed up from her chair, not even noticing the way Marty’s eyes snapped from me to her skintight white dress with a much higher hemline than mine. She walked on her heeled feet to stand in front of me.
“Gage gave you a ride to work so you wouldn’t be uncomfortable?” she clarified.
I nodded.
She continued to gape. “Gage has more of a chance of setting an orphanage on fire to roast marshmallows than doing something like that,” she said, voice full of certainty. And worse, familiarity.
My blood ran cold as I thought of the young, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, tanned, slim, and adventurous receptionist I’d kind of liked up until that point.
Until the moment she talked about Gage with that familiarity.
What was I thinking? I wasn’t jealous. I wasn’t a jealous person. I didn’t believe in jealousy. Nor did I believe in punishing other women because of the actions of men.
“You know him?” I asked, my mouth dry.
She grinned at me, showing off perfectly straight white teeth.
Bet she didn’t even need braces.
I had. For almost two years.
“Everyone knows Gage,” she said. “He’s the most beautiful and insane of all of the guys there. He doesn’t really take many girls to bed.” She screwed up her nose. “But when he does, I hear he does some fucked-up shit. But, like, in a good way.” She gave me a look that was meant to communicate something. “If you know what I mean,” she half whispered.
I had no idea what she meant.
But I did know that my breakfast was about to come up.
And it had nothing to do with ‘fucked-up shit’ and everything to do with the thought of Gage doing it with other women and not me.
I smiled at her, the expression physically painful. “Well, I don’t know anything about him other than he’s fixing my car and gave me a ride instead of setting fire to an orphanage,” I said blandly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to catch up on work. We’re on deadlines, you know.”