Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“So what did you need me to do today?” I ask ignoring my body’s reaction to him.
“I have to meet with a friend to discuss business and would like you to come along,” he says as I take a seat across from him.
“Oh.” Looking down at my black jeans, I run my finger over one of the rips in the material, trying to think of a way to get out of going, then raise my eyes to his. “Is it necessary for me to be there?” I finally ask, and a small smile twitches the corner of his mouth.
“Are you my assistant? The best assistant money can buy?” He raises a brow in a silent dare.
“Touché,” I mutter under my breath, dropping my eyes again when I see him smile his gorgeous smile.
“Give me five and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Alrighty then.” Taking my coffee with me, I leave the office without a backward glance and head down to the floor below. Walking through the empty club, I make my way toward the bar when I see Eva standing behind it, wiping out empty glasses.
“Hey, girly,” she greets when she spots me.
“How are things?” I ask, climbing up onto one of the barstools, setting my bag and coffee on the countertop.
“Busy as ever.” She smiles, setting down one glass and picking up another.
“How’s school going?” I question as I take in her tired eyes. Eva, like most women who work behind bars in Vegas, is beautiful. Looking at her, I can see her Native American heritage and can picture her dressed in custom tribal attire with bright clothing that would accentuate her caramel skin, and braids with feathers in her hair dark.
“Thank God I only have a few months left,” she sighs, setting yet another glass down.
“Then you’ll take the Bar exam?” I ask, knowing she is studying to be a lawyer.
“Yep.”
“You don’t seem too happy about that,” I note quietly.
“I’m happy about finishing school, but my whole future from then on out is completely mapped out for me. I know when I pass my bar exam, I’ll work for my father and our tribe, I’ll marry someone I’ve probably known my whole life, and then I’ll have two kids. All I can hope is, somewhere in there, I’m happy.”
“You can always make your own way,” I say quietly as I study her somber expression.
“I wish it was that easy,” she mutters then nods behind me, and I turn to look over my shoulder at Sven, who is walking—no, prowling—across the empty club floor. He’s looking more handsome than I’ve ever seen him, in jeans and a plain tee with Converse on his feet. “Please be careful with him,” Eva whispers, and I pull my eyes from everything that is Sven to look at her.
“You don’t have to worry about me, honey,” I whisper back with a smile as I slip off the barstool.
“Ready?” Sven asks, nodding at Eva behind the bar once he reaches my side.
“Yep,” I agree then ask, “Am I overdressed?” as we step outside.
“We’ll stop and get you some sneakers,” he says absently, typing into his phone.
“I have shoes in my car,” I tell him, half tempted to take the phone out of his hand and toss it into the street. He’s always on his phone or looking at his computer and as much as I hate to admit it I like when his attention is on me. Walking away from him, I head to my car and grab my own Converse from the trunk. “I thought you said we were meeting with a friend of yours to discuss business,” I mutter as I exchange my heels for my sneakers.
“We are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, folding up the bottom of my jeans so my look is more casual, then stand and unbutton my dress shirt.
“Leave the shirt.”
“What?” I question, turning to face him.
“Fuck.” He frowns as his eyes move from my breasts up to my face. “This guy loves women, so just do me a favor and leave the shirt on.”
“This tank covers the girls,” I say, looking down. Yes, I have cleavage, but it’s not too extreme, and it sure as heck is less than a lot of women show, especially here in Vegas.
“I know they’re covered, but please, for my sanity, wear the shirt.”
Rolling my eyes, I take off the shirt and toss it into the trunk along with my heels.
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he gripes.
“Yeah, and you’re Mr. Perfect,” I mutter as I head across the parking lot to his SUV, before coming to a halt when he grabs my hand and leads me toward the street. “Are we walking to your friend’s?” I ask, taking my hand from his.
“No, my driver is taking us.”
“You have a driver?”
“Yep,” he says, distracted by his phone dinging in his hand. Grabbing the stupid thing, I shove it in my back pocket and then walk backward away from him.