Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Her presence has also meant I’ve spent more time working in the boardroom. The more time I spend with Kate, the more distracting I find her. She needs to do her job and I need to do mine, so I avoid her.
I like her, and it makes me uncomfortable.
I’ve just finished up a call from a contact of mine about a potential opportunity in Arizona when there’s a soft knock at the door, which I now recognize as Kate’s knock. I don’t respond, because I don’t need to. True to form, without waiting for a response, Kate opens the door.
“Hi, I need to go through some things with you.” She’s wearing a soft pink sweater and jeans and she looks…alluring is the only way I can describe her. But there’s barely a day when she doesn’t look alluring. When I don’t want to pull her against me and feel her hands in my hair. And there isn’t a day when I don’t find her completely fascinating.
The way she tilts her head up slightly when she’s thinking has me totally mesmerized. The way she goes completely still when she feels a little out of her depth. The way I can tell whether she’s worked a shift in the pub the previous night because of the sweep of gray under her eyes. It’s just a hint, but one I goddamn congratulate myself for picking up on. It’s like she’s a thousand-piece puzzle and I’m the only one who knows how to solve her.
How to read her.
How to unlock her.
It makes me feel special—like I’ve been chosen. And it’s infuriating. Because I don’t know if it’s something in this British air I’m breathing, but I’ve never felt this before.
About anyone.
Fuck. What did she do to me that night over the pub? It’s like she planted something in my brain that has me fixated on her exclusively.
“I’m just about to get on a call with New York,” I explain. “I’ll come into the office when I’m done.” I feel safer in the office, where there are other people—people whose presence hinders my instinct to reach for her. When it’s just the two of us, the air thickens and I swear I can hear her heart beating. Her perfume seems to fill my head with the scent of roses and vanilla and I can’t fucking think straight.
“I’ll wait,” she says and takes a seat. She’s not sullen or frustrated. She’s just matter-of-fact and steadfast. She’s not going to move until she gets what she wants. And that’s for me to make some decisions.
I fucking love it.
I love her determination and the way she doesn’t give up. I love her quiet intensity. When I hired her, I totally expected her to come in and bang her fist on the desk and demand what she needed from me and that would have been just fine—what I thought I wanted. She sure was vocal enough when it came to all the things she didn’t agree with when she found out I bought Crompton. That’s why I suggested her for this job in the first place. But she’s surprised me. She’s like a quiet, determined bulldozer; she doesn’t scream for people to get out of her way, but if they don’t, they’re going to get flattened.
There’s no point in trying to get her to change her mind and come back later when I’ve finished my call. “What do you need?”
She smiles in victory and I look down at my laptop to distract myself from the way her hair is falling on her neck. “Planting plans. Are you happy with those now?”
“Did they do what I asked with the golf course?”
“They did,” she says.
“Then I’m fine with the planting plans.”
“Great.” She slides a piece of paper toward me. “Just sign on the dotted line.”
“What am I signing?” I ask.
“That you’re fine with the planting plans.”
“I just told you I’m fine. Why do you need me to sign something?” Is she kidding? “Do you think I’m going to change my mind and say I didn’t agree with them or something?” I had one assistant who wanted to record everything I said so she had an “accurate record” of our every interaction. She didn’t last long. I don’t work like that. People on my team either trust me or…they’re not on my team.
She shakes her head. “No. You’d never do that.”
Her statement strikes me deep in the gut. Is it relief? I’m not sure, but it feels like a revelation: she knows me. “Exactly, I’d never do that. So why are you asking me?”
“Because people don’t necessarily always accept my authority.”
“But Stella—”
“Not Stella.”
“The PM?”
She glances into her lap. “I think our project manager sees it as a slight because I can get answers from you he can’t.”
“Ridiculous,” I reply, my tone sharp.
She tilts her head and smiles like I’m being incorrigible, and I have to stop myself from smiling back at her, from holding out my hand, guiding her around the table and pulling her onto my lap.