Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I lay down on my thin mattress and stared at the ceiling as the blue-white-and-red flashes from the police cars below created a tie-dyed firework display in my apartment.
It was fine.
Tomorrow would be better.
Tomorrow, I wouldn’t let my mind drift to how he tasted, how the deep rumble of his voice made my knees weak, or how my skin prickled from his eyes traveling down my body.
Tomorrow, I would be the image of professionalism, and my work would exceed his expectations.
Tomorrow would be better.
It had to be.
Otherwise, I didn’t know how I would survive Mr. Harrison Astrid.
CHAPTER 12
EDDIE
“Incoming,” one of the other paralegals whispered as she passed my desk, pulling me from my files.
I sat up straight, enjoying the sudden crack of my spine and the burn of my back stretching out. I had no idea how long I had been in that same position, totally immersed in my work, but I had to remember to move more.
This week had actually been pretty great so far. After initially fighting it the first two mornings, I finally gave in when Harrison sent the car to pick me up or drop me off.
It was hard to refuse when the driver said it was because Harrison felt that the time I would have spent on the subway would be better served at my desk working on the case instead of being leered at. Since Harrison was not in the back of the car, I decided not to fight it and just enjoy the rides out of the cold.
We had managed to keep a professional distance. Focusing on the work and keeping our interactions courteous and cordial. Extremely courteous and cordial. To the point where I occasionally looked down to see if there were frosty puffs of air coming from either of our mouths as we spoke.
It was fine.
This was what I wanted, after all.
A formal, professional, highly appropriate relationship with my boss.
Yup. Everything was fine.
The fact that I got a flutter in my stomach whenever I caught him staring at me with those intense sapphire eyes or felt a spark of electricity up my spine whenever we were careless enough to allow our hands to brush as we transferred a file or notepad were easily ignored. Sort of. Not really. But it didn’t mean that I wasn’t fine.
Especially if I ignored the plainclothes police officer who routinely lurked on my apartment floor or the cops positioned outside my building night and day, and if I didn’t dwell on how incredibly thoughtful and insanely protective it was of him to arrange for that.
If I wasn’t vigilant about reminding myself that he was my boss, I’d almost fall into the trap of thinking it was a very boyfriend-y thing to do.
Fortunately, I was vigilant.
Very vigilant.
Because I was fine, in my nice new position at my very professional job with my very professional and powerful new boss.
Yup. Just fine.
That was, until I met his mother… and his fiancée.
My coffee order had just been delivered, and there was a fresh stack of files waiting for me with a handwritten note from Harrison telling me what he needed done and not to disturb him unless I had a question that needed an immediate answer to complete my tasks.
It had been a perfect morning. It was quiet. I had been productive and had only had a handful of wildly inappropriate thoughts about my boss that I had to push away.
Sadly, I had a feeling my day was about to take a nosedive.
Two women, both stark bottle blondes dressed in head-to-toe white Chanel and sky-high Louboutins, walked toward my desk. The older woman had a face that was flawless and looked like it had been frozen by Botox, the look made more intense by her strikingly chic platinum bob. The more demure, almost matronly cut of her dress and the confidence with which she wore it were really the only things that gave away her age.
The other woman was younger, maybe in her mid- to late-twenties, so a few years older than me. Her platinum blonde hair hung in soft waves halfway down her back. Her dress was younger in style, with more movement. Her bubblegum-pink lipstick also gave away her youth. She looked like a perfectly polished Barbie.
“Who is that?” I asked one of the paralegal interns walking past my desk. She was a college student who had said she was prelaw and taking night classes, but I was fairly certain she majored in gossip.
“The older one, with the severe bob, is Mrs. Mary Quinn Astrid—Mr. Astrid’s mother. The only thing I know about her is Cynthia hates her. I have no idea why. Cynthia has always been tight-lipped about her boss. But I know he doesn’t like it when she just shows up. Cynthia never lets her in and usually has to add a few shots of Baileys to her coffee when she finally gets her to leave.”