Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Avery: What did the note say?
Me: How did you know there was a note?
Me: Never mind. He gave me his number.
I leave out the part about him offering me a ride to work. I wanted to ask him to take me in, but I felt awkward. I didn't want him to think he needed to give me a ride. He has a life of his own. He doesn’t have time to be my personal chauffeur. Still, he showed up here anyway. I keep finding that really sweet.
Avery: Go out with him.
Me: I’ll think about it.
Avery: Really?
I bite my lip. I know this is likely a bad idea, but he makes me smile. There is also something familiar about him. I feel safe. Why else would I have passed out with him alone in my home?
Me: Yeah really. I’ve got to work so I’ll text you later.
I drop my phone back into my purse. I could work my way into this dating thing. Hang out with him a few more times. The man is not only sweet but handsome too. Not in that cocky way either. He’s not trying to be good-looking. He just is. It’s natural, and I’m not sure he knows it. If he does, he doesn't care.
I get back to work, skipping right over lunch. Unless you count the candy bar I had in my purse. Dread starts to weigh heavy on me when the hours begin to go by, and I don’t get a call from Thomas. He said he needed my help this afternoon with something and now it seems as though I’m going to have to stay late again. I hate being here with him when most of the office staff has gone home for the day.
Maybe he had to go to court, and he wouldn’t be needing my help after all today. That’s wishful thinking considering he’s been in the office all day. I’m definitely going to be here late. I begin cleaning up my area, hoping that I can get out of here. But my hopes are dashed when I get the call to report to Thomas’s office. I take my purse, hoping I can leave right after.
“Go in,” his assistant says without looking at me. I don’t understand why everyone hates me around here. I go above and beyond for everyone when they ask me for something.
“Thanks,” I say before pushing into his office. He’s on the phone and waves me over toward his desk. I sit down, seeing plates of food set out. I push as far back as I can in my chair. It’s all seafood, which I’m highly allergic to.
When he ends the call, he gives me that cheesy smile of his. “Help yourself. I have a conference call and I need you to take notes for me.” Isn't that his assistant’s job? The one sitting outside of his office? He hands me a notepad and pen. His fingers intentionally brush against mine. I jerk my hand back, surprised. I really shouldn't be. This isn’t the first time.
“So just write down whatever is said?” I ask.
“Yep.” He sits back down. “Eat up. You need your strength.” To take notes. The look in his eye says it’s for something entirely different.
“I’m allergic to seafood,” I remind him. He gives me a surprised look. I’ve told him this three times now.
“That must suck.” He gives the same response as before. Luckily the call starts, and I can take my notes and not have to engage in any more small talk with him. I take notes as quickly as I can. He paces around the office and plays with his phone.
At one point he takes off his suit jacket and tie. He gives me a wink when he rolls up the sleeves. I look back down at my pad. Three hours later, the meeting ends and I’m dying of hunger.
“That went well.” He holds his hand out to me, and I hand him the notepad. My hand is freaking killing me. He tosses it on his desk like it’s unimportant. The urge to cry hits me hard and fast. Shit. “It’s late. I should give you a ride home,” he suggests, standing over me. His crotch is eye level.
“The next train will be coming actually.” I jump up. “I should go so I don’t miss it. No need for you to go out of your way.”
“Or we can get a drink.” He tries again. I shake my head no. “This about that neighbor who visited you here today? Are you seeing him?” Then he mumbles something under his breath about a Pulitzer. At least I think he does.
“No. It’s late and my feet hurt.” He glances down at my flats. Which he gives an unpleasant look.
“You’d look better in heels.” Just when I didn't think I could dislike this man more, he proves me wrong.