Total pages in book: 183
Estimated words: 174715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 874(@200wpm)___ 699(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
I blanch. I can’t breathe. Then I think I’m breathing too heavy. “I—it sounds wonderful and I’m honored, but I don’t think I could afford to take it. Living expenses in these types of programs usually aren’t enough and the internship is the same. Low pay. I can’t—”
“It comes with a lump sum of a hundred thousand dollars, split in half, at the beginning of the program and the end. And you only have nine months of school left.”
My hands flatten on the table. “Oh my God.”
“I know. It’s wonderful. They only pick one a year, though, but we’re going to make it you.”
“Surely they want to pay that hundred thousand out over three years, not nine months.”
“Actually,” she says. “The first reaction was really positive. They’d be investing in someone who has a proven track record at an Ivy League school, but they’d want you to finish at Yale so you’d be a short drive or train ride from the offices. I have more details, but I have to go.”
“Yes. Okay. Have I told you I love you?”
She smiles. “I love you, too, woman.” We stand up and she hugs me. “My mom died of a stroke,” she whispers in my ear. “My father almost did.” She leans back to look at me. “Soul sisters. We were meant to meet, and this opportunity is meant to happen to you. Eat dinner. On my tab, because I owe you for that research you did this morning. And take a to-go order to your mother.” She doesn’t wait for a reply. She rushes away.
For a moment, I just stand there taking it all in, and then I sink down on her side of the table, against the wall to allow myself to see the rest of the bar. A waiter appears, and I order a white russian, when I should order coffee. I don’t drink well. I’m too tired and too much of a light-weight. The waiter moves away, and I have no idea why, but my eyes lift across the bar, where a man is standing up to leave. The man with him, who I cannot see beyond a glimpse of an arm, rises to his feet as well, and they shake hands. They speak for a few moments that become a full minute, and my drink arrives.
I tear my gaze away, attending to the waiter, before lifting my beverage. The man I’d been watching, or I believe he is the same man, since I’d only seen his back, walks toward the door. For reasons I can’t explain, I set my drink down and my gaze slides back to the other man, only to have my eyes collide with his, my lips parting in shock. It’s the man from the street this morning. We sit there, staring across the room at each other for what could be seconds or perhaps a full minute before he stands up and starts walking toward me. I was wrong this morning. He’s not gone, and this isn’t over; it’s only just begun.
Chapter three
Lori
Tall, dark, and lethally good-looking with an air of power. That’s this man, who’s now set his sights on me. I watch him close the space between us, his stride long and calculated. A panther on the prowl, hunting and I’m the prey. I am not sure there is a woman on this planet that wouldn’t want this man’s attention, even if she felt obligated to decline, for whatever reason. Until this moment, here, now, somehow coming together with him two times in a span of twelve hours, I would have thought I was one of those women. But something has shifted in the air today. Something has changed in me, in my future. I feel it.
He stops at the table and he doesn’t ask if he can sit. He just does. He claims the chair across from me, and the heat in his eyes tells me he plans to claim me with it. “Cole,” he says, and his voice still rough, deep, masculine perfection. And if anything, the charge between us is more powerful than this morning.
“Lori,” I say.
“I thought you couldn’t do drinks tonight, Lori?”
“Maybe I just didn’t want to do drinks with you.”
His lips, which are full, beautiful lips that I shouldn’t be looking at, quirk at the sides. “Is that how it is?” he asks, amusement in his blue eyes.
“I haven’t decided,” I say, because he’s a man who consumes a woman, and I can’t afford to be consumed.
“Then I consider that a win.”
“How is that?” I query.
“This morning you said no,” he points out. “Now you’re not sure.”
“How are you even here?” I ask. “People don’t run into each other two times in a day. Are you stalking me?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“That’s not an answer,” I point out.