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 give her credit though; she presents a stiff upper lip and doesn’t immediately cave. Lifts her chin a notch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And I’m sure you do.”
One of her shoulders rises in a shrug. “Sir, the only emails I’ve sent you were regarding—”
“Wanting to bang me.”
Peyton chokes on her surprise. “Sir, I assure you—”
“Stop calling me ‘sir’ and cut the bullshit, would you? It’s not doing you any favors.” All it’s doing is pissing me off even more. “Did you or did you not send me that email?” I press a hand against the wall behind her, getting in even closer, letting her feel my palpable anger, letting it smother her.
At first, I’m not sure she’ll admit it and assume she’s going to do one of three things:
Cry because she’s embarrassed and humiliated, although now I’m looking at her, it doesn’t seem like she’s either.
Lie and say it was a joke.
Continue denying it.
Her mouth puckers before it opens, no sound coming out as she gathers her words, thinks them through, and strings them together.
“Rome. I . . .” Peyton looks at the carpet, then back at my face. Blows out an exasperated puff of air. “Fine. You’re right. It was me.”
Was. Not. Expecting. That.
“Are you happy now? You figured it out. And I’m leaving, so you can live in peace. I’ll never bother you again. You won’t have to even look at me. Not that you did anyway,” she mumbles, crossing her arms.
“You don’t even realize how unprofessional sending me those emails were, do you?”
The snort that comes out of Peyton’s nose is anything but ladylike. “Please. Of course I realize it. Why do you think it was anonymous? I’m not an idiot. You and your propriety are the only things you give a shit about.” My eyes widen. “Oh. Look. Big guy doesn’t like it when I swear. Well, too damn bad.”
“You watch your mouth when you’re talking to me. I’m your boss.” I sound like a real dipshit, but I have no idea how to handle this woman. Not a single clue.
She’s confident, she’s not confident. She’s so up and down, and I can’t pinpoint exactly what to say to make an impact.
Peyton’s laugh is loud. And when she tips her head back and lets it hit the wall behind her, the smooth column of her throat contracts with the motion. Her smile would rival that of the Cheshire cat.
“You’re not my boss. I’m done. I can say or do whatever I want.”
“Not if you want to use me for your portfolio.”
She flips her hair. “My portfolio speaks for itself. I don’t need your company in it.”
My body inches closer. “Is that so?”
“Yeah.” Her body is so close to mine. “That’s so.”
“And you expect to get my business? You’re the most unprofessional woman I’ve ever met in my entire life.”
This does not faze her. “Is that so?” She mimics my tone of voice and condescending attitude.
“Yeah.” I mimic her stance and tone of voice. “That’s so.”
“I disagree.” Her eyes rake down my body, and I feel it from the center of my chest where she’s staring, down my stomach and to the tips of my damn toes. Shit. “You’ve never complained about my job performance before.”
“That’s because I had no idea what you were like to work with.”
“And what am I like to work with? I’ve never been written up.” She gestures toward the break room at all the people. “Clearly my coworkers like me.”
I can’t stop the snort from leaving my nose. “They just like free food.”
A diminutive shrug, and Peyton chuckles at me.
Her smug attitude infuriates me. “That’s all you have to say?” I ask, my teeth grinding together.
“I haven’t technically said anything.”
“Don’t get smart.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
My mouth curves into a smirk. “That’s right, I’m not.”
“Nope.” Her mouth pops the P. “Not even a little. Not anymore.”
The space between us couldn’t be any smaller, and the only thing stopping me from shoving my greedy tongue down her throat is the flash of movement in my peripheral vision.
Everyone is watching.
It’s like we’re a bad accident on the side of the goddamn road, and no one can take their eyes off it, instead going slower to inspect the damage.
No one moves.
No one speaks.
No one but Peyton. “Go ahead and do it.”
Her voice is small, but it carries just enough to reach my ears.
“Do what?” I spit out almost sarcastically.
“Kiss me.” She’s daring me, but I’m not an idiot.
I rear back like she’s kicked me in the nuts, putting space between us, hissing, “Are you fucking insane?”
Another laugh. “That’s what I thought. McBossypants and his proper, Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes manners.”
“We. Are. At. Work,” I bite out, words halted.
“I’m not at work—I only came in to clear out my desk. You’re the only one at work here.”