Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
I lean against the countertop, arms folded, eyes trained on Peyton, who is wearing a tight-fitting red dress that wraps around her waist and ties around the side. Her tits look fucking fantastic on prominent display like that.
Shit, I shouldn’t be looking at her tits.
But hell, could her dress be any more low-cut?
I clear my throat and look at my feet. “Thought I would spend a little more time walking around, seeing if anyone needs anything from me.”
She’s mid-wipe of her hands when she looks at me from the side, her head tilted, her eyes pinched together in confusion.
“You decided to walk around to see if anyone needs anything from you?”
“Yeah.” I shrug nonchalantly while snagging an apple from a bowl behind me and taking a bite out of it.
Bite. Chew. Chew.
Her eyes narrow in on my mouth, watching intently as I work the apple around.
Chew. Chew. Bite.
Her eyes stay fixed on my lips, longer than they should, longer than what’s appropriate for a workplace. I count the seconds that go by.
One.
Two.
Three.
Blinking rapidly, she pulls her eyes away and crumples the wet paper towel in her hand only to toss it in the trash in front of her.
Clearing her throat, she rests her hands on the counter and looks around frantically as she says, “Uh, do you want coffee?”
Chew. Bite. Chew. “This apple is actually working for me.” I tilt my head and say, “Are you okay, Peyton? You’re looking a little flushed.”
She pats her cheeks, eyes widening. “Do I? Oh, must be the temperature in here. It’s called air conditioning, Rome. Try turning it on.”
“It’s a constant, cool sixty-eight degrees in the office at all times. Maybe . . . it’s you.”
Bite. Chew.
Nervously, she laughs and flips her hair over her shoulder. “Oh no, I put my deodorant on this morning, so I’m good.” Eyes widening, a horrified look crosses her features as she bites down on her bottom lip, shaking her head as if trying to shake the last few seconds form her memory. “I mean, I’m not going through menopause. Still a young caterpillar over here.”
“Caterpillar?” I lift my brow in her direction.
“Did I say caterpillar? That’s weird, I don’t know why I said that.” Another nervous giggle. She picks up the coffee mug and examines its contents. “You know, I think it’s the coffee. A little too much caffeine on an empty stomach.”
“Oh . . . do you want some of my apple?” I lend my half-eaten apple to her that she eyes only to be followed by her gaze landing on my mouth again.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m good. Going to grab a Pop-Tart from the vending machine. Screw the diet today, you know.” She nods and then rests her hands on her hips, looking around. Fuck, she’s flustered . . . and I love it. She had me out of sorts on Friday night, as if I had disrupted her little domain. And now, she’s on the back foot. Not so sassy and confident now. Interesting. “Guess I’ll go do some more social media posts. Can’t like comments enough.”
“If you’re just liking comments, why don’t you come up with some marketing ideas for the women’s campaign?”
She pauses and then whips toward me, the fire I saw the other day in her eyes returning as she’s snapped out of her stupor. And I smile. I can’t help it. Turns out I like Peyton both sassy and contrite. “Care to pay me more to do that?”
“Does it look like I’m about to cut you another check?”
“It would behoove you to do so.”
“Don’t say behoove; you’re not seventy.”
“And you’re my boss for only two more days, so unless you plan on paying me extra, I’m going to sit in my comfy spinny chair, answer emails, and like all the comments I want.” She leans forward. “On your dime.”
With a wink, she walks away, a sway to her nice, dress-covered ass.
* * *
To: RomeBlackburn@RoamInc.com
From: HandsRomingMyBody@RoamInc.com
I bet by now you want to know what floor I am on at the office, don’t you? **flips hair** Ha ha. You can’t see me and have no idea what I look like. Is it driving you nuts? Trust me—you’d think I’m cute. Maybe. Possibly? Ugh, I don’t know—what’s your type? You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine. Deal?
LSY
To: HandsRomingMyBody@RoamInc.com
From: RomeBlackburn@RoamInc.com
My type. Physically? I’m going to assume that’s what you mean, but I’ll dive a little deeper, if only for my own edification. Taller women. Smart, obviously—someone educated. Someone professional who understands that I do not have time for anything other than a quick lay or a one-night stand. She doesn’t want a relationship. I’m attracted to dark features—dark hair and eyes. Quiet.
Can’t stand a woman who has a smart mouth. Know any like that?
RMB
To: RomeBlackburn@RoamInc.com
From: HandsRomingMyBody@RoamInc.com
Do I know any women with smart mouths? **coughs** I might know one or two, ha ha. Won’t admit to whether or not I have one myself.