Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 111278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111278 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Whoa.
This guy was . . . something else.
And again, she wondered why all these people were here when he was such a jerk.
Mind you, there was a very definite sort of clientele here. Similar to what she’d seen at functions for her law firm when the wives were invited.
Young, beautiful women paired with older, wealthy men. All dressed in expensive clothes, and probably talking about their last holiday to the Maldives and how much was in their 401k.
God, why had she worked in that law firm for so long? It had always been an old boys’ club. They had never accepted her, and they never would have. It took losing out on a promotion to a younger man with far less experience than her to make her realize that.
And that’s when she’d stormed into a meeting Chad was having with some important clients and told him that he was a misogynistic fuckwit.
Which resulted in her losing her job.
If only that was as bad as that day got. She took a deep breath and looked down at the creamy pasta. Definitely not on her approved list of food from those jerkish doctors.
But she needed comfort food after the day she’d had.
Three speeding tickets were a new record for her. Maybe she needed to ask Reuben for a raise.
“Delicious is for customers of a certain caliber, and we don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
Was he still talking?
“Clarke, throw in some complimentary garlic bread. Ms. Anderson looks like the type who enjoys her carbs.”
She sucked in a breath.
Ooh, this guy. She was going to kick his ass.
However, as much as she wanted to fire off at him, she knew she needed to bide her time. It wouldn’t do to have him call the cops and have her charged with trespassing.
“I do like a good breadstick, you’re right. Thanks, Clarke. Tell me, Mr. . . .” She trailed off, waiting for him to supply his last name as Clarke hustled to grab the plate of carbonara, which was beginning to look a bit congealed. Hmm, she wasn’t certain she could stomach it, anyway.
“Davidson.”
“Mr. Davidson, are you denying me service?” she asked sweetly.
“No, of course not.” A cagey look filled his face.
“Oh, thank goodness. Because I have a brother who is an excellent lawyer. I don’t like to boast, but he never loses a case, and well, he’s a mite overprotective, so I wouldn’t want to tell him that you were being mean to me or anything.”
Okay, maybe she was laying it on a bit thick, but Davy Davidson had gone slightly pale, so she thought she was making her point known.
Don’t fuck with me, asshole.
“No, no, you’re welcome back anytime, Ms. Anderson. In fact, next time the food is on the house.” He slithered away.
Yeah, if she didn’t need to investigate him, she wouldn’t come back to this place. She couldn’t burn her bridges completely with this jerk.
Clarke returned with a brown bag for her.
“Thanks.” She gave him a grateful smile. Something told her that she might get more information from the waitstaff than from Davy.
“I’m sorry about Mr. Davidson,” he whispered. “He likes things to look a certain way in here. I stuck some extra breadsticks in there.”
“Aww, thanks, Clarke, you’re a doll. Listen, if you ever need some help with your boss, if he’s being an asshole and mistreating anyone, you can come to me.” As she handed him a generous tip, she slid her card between two twenties. “Just keep that quiet from Davy, huh?”
He nodded robotically, not saying anything. Shit. Would he call or was he too worried about losing his job?
Time would tell.
She turned and headed out the door, holding the bag with her overpriced carbonara. She didn’t turn around to look, but she was certain she could feel eyes on her.
David Davidson would rue the day that he’d insulted her. She’d always held back with Chad because she’d needed him for her promotion.
But she didn’t intend to play nice with this asshole.
She walked along the pavement, thinking about everything she’d learned. Which wasn’t much . . . but all she needed was a thread to make this asshole unravel.
Fatigue weighed her down, and her stomach grumbled.
Unfortunately, she didn’t think she would be able to stomach eating the carbonara.
Energy drink and chips from the vending machine it was.
As she turned the corner, she slammed into something firm and started flying backward.
Oh hell! She was going to crash into the pavement, which would fucking hurt.
Shit!
5
The bag went flying out of her hand.
Two hands grasped hold of her arms, stopping her backward trajectory. The person pulled her into his chest, holding her steady as she gasped for breath.
“Gay kocken offen yom!” she yelled.
“What? Are you all right, Gwen? Did you hit your head or something? You sound like you’re speaking gibberish.”
Oh hell.