Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 160684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 803(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 803(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
“Go back to work,” he ordered.
Her face filled with shock.
“And you might want to take Grady’s words to heart.”
Yep. She wasn’t expecting that. She turned and stomped away.
Steele turned to the other man, who was scowling. “You want to tell me what that was about?”
“It was about Lucy being a bitch and talking to people in ways she shouldn’t.”
“Never seemed to bother you before.”
“It’s always bothered me.”
Yeah, that he didn’t like. “You should have told me. You want her gone?”
“Not right now. I don’t have time to do her job as well.”
“We’ll hire someone else.”
“Actually, I’ve got another plan for that—”
“Grady? Sorry to interrupt, but we need you,” Nate, the head bartender, interrupted them.
“Go take care of that,” Steele ordered. That would give him time to do what he really wanted.
Check out whoever Grady had in his office. Who had him twisted up in knots.
Effie was ready for the door to open, and as soon as it did, she stepped forward, her finger up in the air. “Listen up, mister. You might be stronger than me, smarter than me, and richer than me, definitely prettier than me, but that does not mean you have the right to lock me up!”
She stilled as she got close to the broad chest before her. A wide chest that was even bigger than she’d been expecting. In fact, all of him was larger than she’d been expecting.
Because the man standing in front of her was not the one she’d been expecting.
Oops.
“Never been called pretty before.”
She gazed up into a hard face. One that was striking. Intriguing. Certainly sexy.
Not as classically handsome as Grady’s face. And most certainly not pretty. But that didn’t make it any less mesmerizing.
Also, slightly terrifying. Because this man was enormous. He looked like he could squash her with one of his pinky fingers and not even break into a sweat.
She stumbled back a step, then let out a wince as pain shot through her back.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Hunky-dory.”
Hunky-dory? Really? Could she be any more of a dork?
She studied him. This had to be Steele. And he really suited his name. Because there didn’t look to be an inch of him that wasn’t hard.
Hmm. There might be a few inches. Her gaze dropped to his crotch.
“No, you’re not okay, Spitfire. I don’t know you, but you’ve already gotten up in my face with your finger, which you won’t be doing again. You’ve called me pretty and a whole bunch of other things. Plus, you’ve just lied to me. And all of those things are spelling trouble for you.”
“I well . . . I don’t even know you!”
“No, you do not. But what you need to learn very quickly is that I don’t appreciate having a finger in my face. Or being lied to. Especially when you are not okay.”
“I was expecting someone else to walk through the door and . . . well, it was a little white lie.”
“A little white lie.”
“Yeah, because it’s the polite thing to say. If someone asks you if you’re okay and you don’t know that person well, then you say you’re fine. Because they don’t really want to know if you’re in pain, they’re just being polite.”
“I’m very rarely polite.”
Right. Good to know.
Also, she wasn’t sure how to reply to that.
And she wasn’t sure she liked being called a Spitfire, either.
“I take it you’re Mr. Steele.”
“You’d be right. Damon Steele.” He held out his hand, which surprised her.
But she reached out to take it, only to have him grab hold and not let go.
“Uh, can I have my hand back?”
“No.”
She gaped up at him, noticing his eyes were a striking blue color. He had short dark hair, a short beard, and shoulders that went on forever.
Seriously, he had to be twice as wide as she was.
“You look like you could bench press a small car.”
Something changed in his face. “Not quite. But I can easily pick you up and put you where I want you.”
“Now you sound like Grady.”
“Do I?” he asked curiously.
“Yes, he told me I should stay where he put me. And then he locked me in his office.”
“Obviously, he thinks you’re a runner. Are you a runner?”
“I can’t run. I try to run and I look like Donald Duck. Big butt waddling along. Boobs flying all over the place because no sports bar can tame these girls. It’s not a pretty sight. Then I usually trip over something or twist my foot, and my body will warn me that it wasn’t made for running. And then I’ll stop running for another few years. Until I get the harebrained idea that I need to run in order to lose a few pounds. And the cycle starts again. What was my point again?”
He was standing, leaning against the door with her hand still in his. She gave it a tug, realizing just how warm her skin was where she was touching him.