Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“Oh, I know. No need to apologize.”
“Thank you for everything–lending me your clothes, and–”
“Of course, of course,” she cuts in. “I just wanted to say…well, I’m glad Brick has you–I mean someone like you. He runs through assistants faster than I use up Post-it Notes, and I’m the queen of Post-its, so it’s nice that he can rely on you.”
Okay, now she’s acting weird, too. Am I getting fired today? What was said about me after I left?
“Oh…yes. Thanks.”
“All right. Sorry. I don’t mean to make it awkward. I was just checking to make sure you didn’t actually quit after everything that happened in the Berkshires. So… glad to hear you’re still there, and that’s all, really.”
This day is getting stranger by the moment. “Did you want to speak to Brick?”
“Yes, but I’ll call his cell later. Have a great day, Madi.”
“Thanks, Ruby, you, too.”
The moment I end the call, Blackthroat’s voice comes through on the intercom. “Madison, I need you to call a meeting–” The intercom cuts out, like he took his finger off the button. I lean forward to peer through the window to his office and see him stab the button back down. “Come to my office, Madison.”
Again, he has that pissed-as-hell tone, like I’ve really screwed up, but I can’t fathom what it’s about. But if I learned one thing over Thanksgiving, it’s that he sometimes lashes out because he cares. Like his anger over me taking a helicopter in bad weather. And his strained relationship with his mother.
“Of course, sir.” I get up from my desk and remember what Aubrey said. Just because I decided I won’t have sex with him again doesn’t mean I can’t torture the guy. I put a little extra swing in my step as I sashay into his office. I’m in a forest green sweater with a criss-cross collar and an opening that frames my decolletage. I wore knee-high boots beneath my pencil skirt. Every day I get better at walking in heels. I stop inside the door and lean my hip against the wall.
“Yes, sir?”
He casts me a dark look, his gaze sweeping up and down my outfit, lingering on the boots, and then on the window to my breasts.
He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Odd for a man who usually cuts right to the point. “Bring me one of those waters,” he commands.
I would swear he just came up with that on the spot. Like he wasn’t sure why he called me into his office and then made up a reason.
Could it be my boss is as conflicted about what happened between us over the weekend as I am?
“Of course,” I say smoothly, pushing off the wall and gliding—as well as I can glide in heels—to the kitchen refrigerator to fetch him the fancy water in a glass bottle that he likes.
When I return, I set it on his desk without opening it. Lord knows, I remember what happened last time when I tried to unscrew it while walking in heels.
Brick draws in a long breath as I stand beside him, his nostrils flaring.
“Anything else?” I breeze, my voice holding the same notes of pleasant attentiveness it held on the day he hired me. As if nothing at all has changed what we are to each other.
The pen between Brick’s fingers snaps. Literally snaps. I don’t know how that’s even possible without using both hands.
It wasn’t some plastic Bic pen either. It was one of those sleek metal pens that cost one hundred and twenty-eight dollars. I know because I order them for him.
“Open it,” he commands, his voice deep and gruff.
What the hell? Is he just getting off on bossing me around right now? If we were still playing our games, I would be up for it, but I’m too raw from Thanksgiving. From getting close to him, seeing the personal side of him—his family, his wounds—and then getting hustled out the back entrance like the servant that I am. Not hearing a word from him for the rest of the weekend.
I normally pride myself on keeping it together, keeping a facade up when I’m supposed to be professional, but I finally break. After smoothing my walls up all weekend, he just cracked one down again.
“Are you trying to get me to quit again?” I snap.
“No!” The word explodes out of him, almost as if he’s alarmed.
He snatches my wrist, tugging me closer before releasing it again, as if I scalded him. “No,” he repeats. He clears his throat. “Never mind.” His tone is back to professional. “You can go.”
Oh no. I can’t go. Not without actually addressing what’s between us. This is too weird.
“Listen, about this weekend—“
Brick’s gaze snaps to my face, and I definitely see conflict in his stormy eyes.
“Things are getting too… confusing. Or…complicated. I think we should just keep it professional from here on out.”