Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Perhaps I read too much into his pledge that whatever we were stepping toward would be more than a one-night thing. Maybe he wakes up in every one of his dates’ beds the following morning because he isn’t a runner. Or perhaps he’s just being nice because he doesn’t want a workplace harassment claim slapped on him the instant he takes over ownership of a new company.
I truly don’t know. I am the most bewildered I’ve ever been.
“He’s different,” I eventually settle on. “And I like that about him. You don’t often find a guy you feel comfortable around within a minute of meeting them.” I sigh. “But this isn’t something I should be doing. He’s my boss...” not to mention possibly many other things.
“Who is insanely hot and hasn’t been anything but a gentleman the entire day. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t propositioned before lunch. The only reason that hasn’t happened today is because of Jack.” The smile she directs at Jack makes me a little jealous. “I think I’m going to like having him around.” She locks her eyes with mine. “And I think you will too if you’d give him half a chance.”
Stealing my chance to retort, she returns my hip bump before sauntering to her cubicle.
I’ve barely had the chance to summarize why her suggestion is bad for so many reasons when I’m joined in the break room by a man who exudes such power and wealth, I can’t believe I didn’t realize who he was earlier. I wasn’t seeing Mr. Carson, media extraordinaire. I was seeing Jack, a Jerseyite expat who had a gleam in his eyes that revealed his heart was made out of gold despite the cruelties it may have faced in its short thirty years.
“Octavia…” The back of Jack’s fingers brush my cheek before I register him calling my name. “Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh,” I reply, a better response above me. I can’t have his hands on me and maintain normal brain function. “I was just wondering how many more performance reviews we have left for today.”
I peer at Jack in shock when he replies, “None. We’re done for the day. The rest can wait.” He scoops up the leftover lunch I was sharing with Jess from the break room table, pops on the lid, then places it back into the refrigerator. “But there is somewhere I need us to be.”
“Us?” My voice is way too high for my liking.
He jerks up his chin. “Yes, us.” I like it just as much out of his mouth as I did mine. “Grab your coat. It is cool outside.”
“Ah… I don’t have a coat with me.”
I eye him curiously when a jacket magically appears in his hand two seconds later. It is oddly similar-looking to the one I was eyeing at the thrift shop on Saturday, only this one is the right size. I wouldn’t have left a merino wool coat on the hanger if it weren’t two sizes too small.
“Where did you purchase this?”
He suggests I turn around before replying, “Elaine secured it from a supplier in Los Angeles. It was shipped this morning.”
I freeze, shocked as hell. “You bought me a coat?”
“No,” he corrects. “A supplier gifted it to you with the hope you’ll be photographed wearing it.”
“Then they’re shit out of luck, aren’t they? I haven’t been to the movies in months, much less an event that will have me photographed by someone of any importance.”
Jack’s plump lips tug into a smirk. “Then perhaps you can wear it to the gala this weekend?”
I bounce my eyes between his. “Gala? What gala?”
He finishes assisting me into my coat before disclosing, “The gala you are attending with me this weekend.”
“That’s a little presumptuous, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Carson?” His surname tastes bitter in my mouth, but I pretend it doesn’t. “You’re meant to ask someone to attend the event with you. Not assume they’ll be your plus one.”
“Not when it is for charity.” He fixes the collar on my jacket before lowering his eyes to mine. “This event raises funds for victims of abuse. The more people in attendance, the higher the reserve of each auction. It’s a worthwhile cause I don’t see anyone refusing an invitation to attend.” He pulls a gilded invitation out of the breast pocket of his jacket and hands it to me. My name is etched across it in elaborate gold foil. “Unless you have something else in mind for this weekend”
I shake my head, my emotions too askew to pay attention to the crumbling of the wall around my heart. “I don’t have any plans.” Nor a dress, but I keep that snippet of information to myself. If he purchased a coat for me after only one appreciative glance, imagine what he will do if I inform him I don’t own a single ballgown. “But to stave off rumors, perhaps I should meet you there?”