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)
She tried to ignore the babe. He probably called everyone that. But it went to her head, making it spin.
To try and hide her reaction, she quickly climbed into the car.
A broad-shouldered, dark-haired man sat in the driver’s seat. He looked back at her through the rearview mirror.
Steele leaned in. “Seatbelt.”
She always wore her seatbelt and she’d barely just sat down, so he hadn’t exactly given her a chance to grab it.
“Raul, take Spitfire home. Drive careful. Precious cargo.”
Holy. Heck.
Warmth filled her belly.
Precious cargo.
He couldn’t know what those words meant to her. Maybe this was like his ‘babe’, something he said to every woman Raul drove home, but it still felt nice. And she didn’t want to think about how many women there had been in this car.
Nope.
“You got it,” Raul replied.
Steele shut the door before she could say goodnight.
Okay. That was a bit rude.
She gave her address to Raul and he drove her silently through the streets. While Raul was very careful, she still found herself clenching her hands together and chewing on her lip.
By the time they got to her neighborhood, she felt exhausted from all the stress. The pills had kicked in, so her pain level was low, but she was sleepy as hell.
“Thank you,” she told him, undoing her belt and reaching for the door as he came to a stop.
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“In this neighborhood, Miss, it certainly is.”
Okay, seemed even the mysterious Raul was bossy and protective. Good to know.
He walked her to the door, which Brooks opened as she got there. She gave him a surprised look, but he was glaring at Raul.
“Who is he? What’s going on?”
“Nothing, honey,” she said. “Raul just drove me home. Thanks. Oh, let me get you some money.”
Raul just shot her a look. He was a good-looking guy in his late forties with a fit build. And that look he sent her was pure alpha male.
“No money.”
“But you’ll need a tip.”
“No money. Go in, lock your door, don’t answer it to anyone you don’t know.”
“Um. Okay.”
He was still standing there, so she guessed he was waiting for her to do just that. She gently pushed Brooks inside, then turned to lock the door. She watched out the side window as Raul walked back to the car.
Then she turned to where Brooks was waiting. His foot was tapping, his arms crossed over his chest.
An alpha male in the making.
“Hey, honey. How was your day?”
“My day was good. Uneventful. I’m guessing yours wasn’t. Who was that?”
“My new boss’ driver,” she said.
Urgh. Maybe she should have made something up. But she really hoped this job would work out, so Brooks would soon find out if she lied. And she tried not to lie to him. And not just because he seemed to have some sort of lie-radar.
“New boss? You got a new job?”
“Yep. Maybe we should crack out the hot chocolate to celebrate.”
“New job doing what?” Brooks asked as she moved through the living room, which also doubled as her bedroom since she slept on the sleeper sofa. Teenage boys needed their privacy and she’d rather Brooks have the bedroom.
Once she was in the tiny, avocado-green kitchen, she turned to him. There was a look of disapproval on his face.
“What type of job do you think I got?”
“I don’t know, but interviews for most jobs don’t usually happen at this time of night.”
Shit. He had her there.
And while she tried not to lie to Brooks, she didn’t want him to know what she’d been interviewing for tonight.
Yeah . . . and what were you planning on telling him if you had to work at night?
Plus, he was probably wondering why she still had her coat on.
Suffice it to say, she hadn’t thought things through all that well.
She heaved out a breath. “I got a job as a personal assistant. But the guy I’m going to be working for, well, I think he mostly works late at night.”
“What sort of job does he have where he works late at night?”
“He runs a bar.”
“Which one?”
“Brooks,” she said, turning the kettle on.
“You don’t want to tell me. Which bar? Where is it? What time are you going to be working? And will his driver be bringing you back every night? Because it’s not safe to take the bus this late.”
“You know that I’m the adult, right?” she shot back.
“I’m sixteen years old, Aunt Effie. I’m not a child.”
She closed her eyes at the hurt note in his voice. Then she opened them again as the water boiled.
“You’re right, you’re not.” She attempted to reach up for the hot chocolate that was stashed up high so that she wouldn’t drink it all the time, but she let out a pained grunt.
Then she felt him behind her, reaching up to grab the tin.