Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
“You’ve got a bruise.”
“I was assaulted by your door, bruises happen,” I retort pushing his hand away again.
“Talk to me.”
I exhale long and deep and look into the eyes of the man I usually consider my friend. “My car got broken into last night, so I stayed at Laurie’s and then I had to get the subway to work but I got off at the wrong station, and I’m Samsung whereas Laurie is Apple so when my phone died I couldn’t charge it because I forgot my power cord.” And breathe.
“Okay.” He takes my hands in his. “What have you done about your car?”
“Nothing, my phone died.”
“Right, well, let’s cross that off the list. Did you report it?”
“Yep, they told me to call my insurance company. Fat chance. I’m not raising my premiums.”
“Police are useless these days, they’re too stretched thin,” he mumbles, still holding my hands. “Okay, I’ll get your car sorted, you’ve got a power cord at your desk, and I’ll drive you home after work. Okay?”
Now I feel bad for yelling at him and getting angry because he was taking pleasure in the woman he married.
He releases my hands and opens his arms. “Need a hug?”
“I do but not from you, you smell like sex,” I mutter petulantly, shrieking when he grabs me anyway and pulls me back into his chest. “Stop… so gross.” His strong arms band around me and then his fingers start digging into my sides.
I hate being tickled. It’s torture.
“Stop!” I beg, laughing so hard everything hurts not just the area he’s prodding and poking.
I grab his hair and pull, making him cry out. Soon we’re both fighting for power but he’s steadily beating me, grabbing my hands and pulling them away from his body.
“Sex hand,” he says and covers my mouth with his palm. True to his word he smells and tastes of soap, but still… ewww. I bite the fleshy side of his palm and really sink my teeth in.
“Ow. Ow. Ow. OW!” He releases me and I stop biting him.
I sit up, haughty and with attitude. Glaring at him, I stand and smooth the crinkles out of my clothes. “This is a professional workplace.”
He laughs his ass off as I stomp out of his office with aching ribs and a sore head.
Ezra sorted my car out for me while at work, he had it taken away for repair and dropped me off at home at the end of the day. My car is gone, the glass has been cleared and I run into my apartment like my heels are about to catch fire. I open the entrance door and slam it closed and make quick work of the door to my apartment.
I leave my keys in the lock, just in case, and check all the nooks and crannies for bad guys. I’m so paranoid. I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.
I have a can of mace somewhere, so I search for that and keep it in my baggy pajama pocket. Then I sit and watch TV on the lowest volume while reading the things I need for our trip to NYC in a couple of days.
Nothing happens. Or so I thought because, when I wake up the next day, my neighbor upstairs told me a man kept asking her to let him in at two in the morning. She said he said that he was worried about me, because I hadn’t been in touch for days, but she saw me leave in the morning and saw my car and put two and two together.
She threatened to call the police and he left.
It had to be him.
What is he playing at?
Chapter Twenty-One
His AMAZING ass.
“It’s going to be okay,” I reassure Mr. C, placing my hand on his bouncing knee. For once he’s the jittery one. “You’re going to nail it.”
He relaxes and his closest friend and executive recruiter, Robert Butler, who I’ve met many times over the past year, looks at my hand and then at me. I remove it before he can speculate.
“She’s right, it’s in the bag,” Robert agrees, stretching and groaning.
“And I’ve got all of the info in here.” I tap my head. “So, don’t worry about losing your place. We practiced the cues. I’ve got you.”
“Have you got me too?” Robert asks, openly flirting with me. He’s a natural flirt with any woman he considers pretty. Which means he used to completely ignore me before. “I need somebody to hold my hand.”
“Ask your dick,” I retort, making him laugh.
“Ask it if you’re allowed to hold it? Certainly.”
“Robert,” Mr. C snaps, giving him a pointed look.
Robert’s smile doesn’t fade, and his hazel eyes linger on me for a beat longer.
Robert was a last-minute addition to this short trip. Robert thought it best to have somebody else who knows the tech they’re pimping out as well as Mr. C does and eventually convinced him to bring him along. It makes sense but I can’t deny the fact I’m disappointed that it’s not going to be just us two.