Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 25523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Colette is listening intently, and I can see that what I’m saying is getting through and she is contemplating it, not just dismissing out of hand. It convinces me that my first impression of her was spot on. She’s gorgeous sure, but beyond her looks, she is strong and independent. I also sense that she is open-minded and there is kindness in her eyes that makes the whole package and draws me to her like a magnet.
“He’s worked his ass off to get his life together and help others learn from his mistakes,” I insist. “I think everyone deserves a second chance, don’t you?”
“I don’t disagree with you, Tyson.”
“That’s great,” I start, but she doesn’t let me finish.
“Unfortunately, this issue is beyond my influence with the president”—she holds up her hand when I attempt to speak—“And, I’ll admit, while I am mostly in support of his stance on anyone who has a history of drug use, I believe in second chances and I think he’s being just a tad too hard-headed.”
“Then—”
“That being said, my opinion isn’t going to sway him. I’m sorry.”
Colette stands abruptly and I just sit there, rendered speechless. She sticks out her hand and I grasp it, but she gives it a hard shake and snatches her hand back like it’s on fire.
My equilibrium returns as she scoots around my chair and hurries towards the door. I stand and grab her wrist, stopping her from getting away. Her brown eyes meet mine and she watches me warily. “Dinner,” I blurt, then mentally cringe. “Let me take you to dinner tomorrow.” Smooth, Grant. Real smooth.
She hesitates for a beat then shakes her head. “Um, I don’t think so.”
“That’s not a no,” I respond with a smirk.
Colette opens her mouth, then shuts it and shakes her head again, while tugging to free her hand.
“I won’t give up, baby,” I warn her.
She stills and cocks her head to the side. “Give up on changing the president’s mind or mine?” she asks, sincerely curious.
I tug hard on her hand, and she stumbles into my chest. Wrapping my arms around her, I bring her body flush with mine. Giving in to what I’ve wanted since I laid eyes on her, I lower my head and seal my mouth over hers. I rub my tongue over her lips and groan when she lets me in. I kiss her until we are both shaking, and I know if I don’t stop, I’ll take this way too far. Pulling back, I smile at the dazed expression on her face. “I won’t give up on either.”
Chapter 3
Colette
“If you keep that up, you’re going to lose weight when you definitely don’t need to.” My dad reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I’m worried about you. You’ve seemed distracted lately. I haven’t thrown too much at you all at once, have I?”
I glance up from my salad to find my dad’s eyes full of concern. I’m not surprised he noticed that I’m not hungry since I’ve been pushing my food around my plate instead of eating it ever since the waiter dropped it off five minutes ago. But I am a little surprised he noticed I’ve been preoccupied the past week and a half. I thought I was doing a better job of hiding it. The last thing I want to do is talk to him about the cause of my distraction—Tyson Grant.
I haven’t been able to get him out of my head; in large part due to his campaign to make me think about him each and every day. It started with deliveries to the studio; coffee and muffins the first day, flowers and chocolates the next. Then he somehow got hold of my cell phone number and started sending me messages. I’ve spent way too much time staring at all of the texts he’d sent today when I should’ve been working. My brain keeps telling me that I should resist his charm because getting involved with him would complicate things. But my heart, and my damp panties, don’t agree.
“No, Dad. You haven’t thrown too much at me”—unless he wants to count having me take a meeting with a super-hot, successful, and persistent man who wears a suit better than most models as too much...which I’m willing to bet he doesn’t—“I’m fine, really. Please don’t worry about me. My new office is perfect, and I think I’ve been fitting in nicely with everyone at the studio.”
He narrows his eyes and scans my face for any signs that I’m not being honest. Luckily, I really am fine when it comes to work so he seems convinced. “Is there something wrong with the salad? I can have them bring you something else from the kitchen. Whatever you want.”
His response is so typical for my dad. He really would go into the kitchen and talk to the chef if I was craving something they didn’t offer on the menu. “The salad is fine. I think maybe I’m just a teensy bit worried about fitting into my dress on Sunday since it’s the first time I’m going to an awards ceremony with you.”