Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84228 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Good morning,” I say softly, and he just looks ahead, not saying anything, and it’s completely fine. More than fine, actually. Making small talk when I’m here just to get my workout in can be exhausting. I turn on the television and then plug in my earbuds. I turn it to CNN and watch it for a bit while I warm up. I then turn it to Dateline. I’m not even paying attention to Tyler while I watch the episode. I finish the hour-long episode and then slow my pace. Taking my earbuds out, I grab my water bottle, bringing it to my mouth.
“So where is the boyfriend?” I hear him gruff from next to me. I look over at him, my jog slowing to speed walking.
“Are you talking to me?” Panting while I get my breathing under control, I look around to see if maybe someone else snuck in while I was running on the treadmill, but the room is empty except for us. “Boyfriend?”
“You and Jonathan, is it still hush-hush?” He finally looks over at me, and he looks angry.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I tell him the truth. “Where is your juicer girl?” I look at my watch. “She’s late.”
“Cassie is my assistant,” he tells me. Lowering his speed, he slows his run to a brisk walk.
“I know. I have to say I’m a little surprised that she isn’t here to dab the sweat off your forehead. Cheering you on.” I turn off the machine and turn away from his stare as I grab my water bottle and head in the direction of the door.
“I changed the list,” he says when my hand pulls open the door, and I stop in my tracks. My heart starts to speed up faster than when I was running. I turn and see that he has taken his shirt off. He stands there on the treadmill with his shorts hanging low on his hips and his six-pack on full display. His chest wide and tanned, glistening with the perspiration that somehow has my own mouth watering as he tosses his shirt over one shoulder. “I didn’t know they were announcing it like that.”
Oh, fuck me. My hand lets go of the handle, and I turn to look back at him, crossing my arms across my chest. “You mean you didn’t think you would feel guilty after tossing me under the bus in a public way, so now you’re throwing a bone my way.” I raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to answer, and he just glares at me. “What?” I ask him, now uncrossing my arms and walking toward him. “What you mean is that you weren’t expecting to feel like shit? You just figured fuck her, she deserves it.” Shaking my head, I mumble, “Unbelievable.”
“I . . .” he starts to say, and then I hold up my hand to stop him.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. You want me here as much as I want to be here.” I put my hand on my hips. “Now it’s not just the two of us who know that it’s a well-documented thing.”
“I didn’t want you here,” he says, grabbing a water bottle and twisting off the cap, “not in the least, but you’re here, and we need to make the best of it.”
“What the heck does that mean?” I ask him, my hands getting a touch clammy.
He stops drinking his water and looks at me, his eyes changing color again. They are gorgeous, and that irritates me to no avail. “We call a truce of sorts.”
I raise my eyebrow at him. “Meaning?” I ask, listening to my heart speed up just a tad more, the sound becoming a bit louder in my ears.
“Meaning we are stuck with each other for the month, so why don’t we just call a truce? I won’t—” he says, and I speak up, interrupting whatever bullshit was about to come out of that gorgeous mouth.
“You won’t be an asshole, and I won’t be a bitch.” I fill it in for him, and he just smiles.
“More or less,” he says, drinking more water. “If you have a story or shit comes up during this month and it’s about me, I ask that you ask me about it before printing it,” he says. “There will be nothing that could come up, but if something did come up, you ask me first.”
“What about questions during interviews?” I ask him, trying to hide my smile. I had already agreed to play nice—well, I promised Stephanie—but the jury was still out.
“Seriously, Jessica,” he says, putting his hands on his hips and looking up at the ceiling. I finally burst out laughing, and his head snaps back down to look at me.
“Fine. Truce,” I say, and his smirk turns into a huge smile. I shake my head and turn around to head out the door.