Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“So you run,” Forsythe observed, fingers working deftly with the needle, thread looping and then tightening in tiny black arcs.
“Run. Check out mentally. Shut down. You name it, I do it.”
“If you run, there is a guarantee that you will fail.” Forsythe looped the thread into a little knot, tied it off, then bit the end off with a quick snap of his teeth, sensuous lips gliding against the thread momentarily. The needle vanished into his pocket. “If you try, it is only a possibility.” He drew closer, then, smoothing the creases in the slacks, before sinking to one knee and gently gripping Ash’s ankle to guide his foot into the leg of the slacks, gloves grazing soft against his skin. He looked like some strange knight kneeling before a lady, or a prince offering Cinderella her glass slipper, and those dark eyes were strange and warm and quiet and searching as he looked up at Ash. “Try, young Master.”
Ash smiled faintly. “Are you actually trying to encourage me?”
“I believe that, too, is in my job description.”
Sighing, Ash shook his head, shifting to make it easier for Forsythe to slide the slacks up his legs. “You confuse me, Forsythe.”
“You have known me for two days.” Suddenly rough hands had him by the hips, dragging him forward with undeniable strength and not so much as an if-you-please, Ash’s stomach flipping as Forsythe’s grasp lifted him to his feet, positioning him until he stood with Forsythe kneeling at his feet, so close that the man’s breaths stirred warm through his shirt as he murmured, “It takes at least three before I am an open book to my employer.”
“Funny,” Ash rasped, and that brief smile flitted across Forsythe’s lips again.
“Here.” He tucked Ash’s shirt quickly, neatly into his waistband, then zipped Ash up again and rose to his feet. “Much better.”
He guided Ash into a tie, next, fitting and looping it neatly into a Windsor knot, then a soft, dark gray waistcoat and the matching black suit coat. They, too, fit perfectly, and Ash once more checked the cuffs for that tell-tale line of fresh stitching.
When did Forsythe find the time?
Forsythe smoothed the suit coat over Ash’s shoulders, settling it into place. There was something soothing about the touch, about feeling like Forsythe had put him together one piece at a time until he was ready to face the day. Ash offered a faint smile. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome, young Master.” With a brief bow, Forsythe stepped back. “Now if you are prepared, you are due at the office for a Board meeting in approximately twenty-seven minutes.”
Panic laced, sharp and shrill, through him. “What? When were you going to tell me that?”
“I put it in your email calendar last night.”
“I didn’t check that!”
“Why not?” Forsythe asked pointedly.
“Oh my God, you are such an asshole.” Ash dragged a hand over his face—then flinched and resisted the urge to bat Forsythe away when the man came at him with a comb, sliding it into his hair and smoothing it back from his face. Fucking hell, he was going to look like his father if this kept up. “What’s the meeting about?”
“Shareholder projections for the fourth quarter,” Forsythe murmured. With a gentle touch he tucked a lock of Ash’s hair behind his ear, grazing the upper curve; Ash fought the urge to shiver and jerked away. Forsythe was just full of too many mixed signals—hard claiming kisses and cold demanding words and careful attentive care and fucking asshole surprises, leaving Ash to flounder only to offer a hand before he drowned.
He just…he couldn’t deal with this right now, whatever game Forsythe was playing.
“I don’t even know what that means,” he deflected.
“You may want to learn quickly.” Forsythe’s hand vanished inside his coat with the comb, and re-emerged with a dark brown expanding file, laced closed with a snap of black elastic. He offered it to Ash with a brief bow. “You can read it in the car.”
Ash took the folder, unlooped the elastic, and spilled out several pages of printed bullet points and charts. “…what’s this?”
“A cheat sheet, as it were. Enough talking points to get you through.”
Frowning, Ash paged through the notes, rifling the printouts quickly. “When did you make this?”
“Last night, as well.” Forsythe inclined his head. “I would not let my young Master go in unprepared.”
With a sigh, Ash flipped the folder closed. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to break me, or build me up.”
“What if one must occur for the other to be possible?”
“…I’m too hung over to answer tha—”
He broke off as, this time, a fresh bottle of water appeared from inside that bottomless coat; Forsythe offered it expectantly. Ash exhaled, unable to help a rueful smile. Hydrate a hangover. Right. And of course Forsythe had the answer right there.
“Thank you.”