Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127712 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
“Um…” I hate surprises. Why do I have to make this decision? “No. I’m fine. The heat feels good, actually.”
“Ah. Right.” He grins at me and I’m reminded of just how handsome my new mentor is. He didn’t shave this morning and there is a dark shadow across his jaw that matches his dark hair. It’s not messy, but it’s not neat, either. Not the way it was slicked back during our first meeting. It’s not straight or curly, but has a nice wave, and it’s just a little bit too long so that wave really shows. It’s fuckin’ hot. He slips his suit coat back on and some of this new hotness turns literal.
Yeah, he’s a diehard suit guy.
“You mentioned that.” He must read the confusion on my face because he continues. “Where would you build your dream home? You said Bora Bora. I took that to mean that you like the heat because Bora Bora in the summer is oppressively hot and dream homes are permanent homes, so I assumed you would be there in the summer.”
“Wow. You got all that from one question?”
“No.” He grins at me again. “I got all that from one answer.”
“Right.” I feel that surprise anxiety building back up inside me. Why am I so off my game today? I snap out of it and tap my head. “Forgot where I was for a moment. The mosaic tiles on the first floor of this building depict a brain.”
He’s still grinning as he flops into the chair opposite me. “People are open books, Ms. Ryanzski. You just need to know how to read their words.”
Again, I feel foolish. And imposter syndrome is starting to creep in. Maybe I don’t belong here? Maybe I’m not smart enough? Maybe I’m not special at all? Maybe I’m the only one who accepted the offer? I mean, I’m on a private island in the middle of New Hampshire and I don’t even get to know what my part in his project will be until I sign an NDA.
Silas Mercer picks up the envelope with my name on it and slides out a stack of papers. It’s a much thicker stack of papers than I figured is warranted. He shuffles them, then slides a good portion of that stack back inside the envelope. My eyes follow this movement. But then he puts the other stack in my line of sight.
“Ready to go over the paperwork?”
I look up at him. “Sure, Mr. Mercer.”
“Oh, it’s just Mercer here. We go by surnames, remember? I mentioned that in your recruitment interview. So you will be Ryan.”
“Ryan?” I make a face.
“Come on now. Nova?” He laughs. “It’s so obnoxious and trendy. You might as well be called Starchild. Your name is now Ryan—because good Lord, Ryanzski, no one wants to go around spitting out those syllables all day long. It’s not even a real name.”
I just… blink at him. “You’re changing my name?”
He blows out a breath. “Well, if you hate it—”
“I don’t hate it. I’m just”—once again—“surprised, that’s all.”
“Shit. I forgot about that.”
“What?”
“You hate surprises.”
“How do you know that?” I did have to fill out a questionnaire the last time we met, but I’m absolutely certain that I didn’t mention my hatred for surprises.
“The question was, ‘For your birthday would you prefer an impromptu gathering with family and friends or a private night alone with your significant other?’ You said private night alone.”
“Yeah, but…” I kinda huff out some air. “You can’t draw that conclusion based on that one question. Wouldn’t everyone prefer an intimate night with their significant other?”
He points a pen at me. “That’s your bias speaking. But you’re right. It wasn’t just one question that gave away your aversion to surprises. It was a combination of about a dozen.”
“So it was a personality test?”
He shoots me a look. “You know it was. I told you that before you took it.”
But that’s not how I remember it. I remember him saying it was an informal get-to-know-you packet that everyone in the department filled out.
“Hmm,” I say.
“What’s that for?”
“I’m catching on, that’s all.”
“Oh, are you.” He leans back in his chair, making it squeak. “Enlighten me.”
“It’s all a test, isn’t it?”
“Life? Yes, it is.”
“Not life. You. This place. How many people are in your department… Mercer?” It’s weird to call him by his last name.
He laughs. “You are catching on.”
“It’s just us, isn’t it?”
He leans forward in his chair now, places his elbows on the desk and stares directly into my eyes. “It’s me and you, Ryan. One year of just me and you.”
I kinda stop breathing at this point. Because he’s… captivated me. And he hasn’t even done anything.
“Anyway.” He breaks the awkward silence. “Sign here.” He points to a line on the one-page contract, then slides it, and the pen he’s still holding, towards me.