Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 112839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
I should have known better than to try to escape the shit storm that was my reality.
A throat clears, and I snap out of my head and find all eyes on me.
"You okay?" Stephanie asks wearily.
"Yes, I spaced out. It seems to happen a lot lately. My mind travels to the house, and everything around me becomes invisible." I lie, again, to my friend.
"You don't need to worry. Miller will take excellent care of you," Darby assures me.
"I'm not worried at all." I try to sound indifferent to his name, even though my heart flips in my chest. "Besides, Pierce's intimate knowledge of the perfect kitchen is reassuring."
He shares a glance with Darby and Stephanie that makes my skin prickle.
"This is entirely Miller's project." His tone is serious. "I'll help when I can, but Miller cleared his schedule for this."
I bite my tongue to keep from repeating that Miller told me this was a good time of year for him.
"Yeah, Uncle Miller said he will be wrapped up in you for a long time," Cole throws in.
This time when Pierce glances at Darby, the hair on my arms stands. Something passes between them, and my suspicions hackle when Stephanie coughs to cover up her laugh.
"I think he said wrapped up in the project," Pierce corrects his son, not hiding his smirk.
"Same difference." Cole shrugs.
To a ten-year-old, the meaning goes over his head, but I don't miss the innuendo. My cheeks flame, and by the knowing looks on the adults' faces, they are thinking the same thing.
For about the hundredth time since yesterday, the fact rolls through my mind.
I'm definitely in trouble.
Chapter 3
Miller
I let myself into the house and follow the sound of the music to find Ashlyn in the bathroom with a steamer in her hand. She's singing lightly, lost in her own world, facing the wall and ripping as she goes. Heaps of shredded wallpaper cover the floor.
I lean against the doorframe and rake my eyes over her, taking in the way her body moves with the music. My cock stirs in my jeans, knowing the feel of her hips rocking on top of me. Her tiny tank top and leggings are the exact opposite of the power outfit I last saw her in.
I knew my parting words that Sunday night affected her when I showed the next morning and got my first glimpse of the Prada Princess. Her shields were up and attitude in place. The outfit she wore was appropriate for a corner office and not a day walking through showrooms.
Still, I enjoyed every second of her attempts to ignore my presence.
She turns to face me, and my gaze travels back up her body. Fuck yeah, I like this outfit a hell of a lot more.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Enjoying the view."
"Me stripping wallpaper is considered a view?"
"It's not the wallpaper, it's the woman."
A blush creeps up her neck before she says, "That's slightly inappropriate."
"Not to me. Considering it's been a week since I've seen you, I'm enjoying this."
She tries to remain straight-faced, but the glint in her eye gives her away. "What do you think?"
"I prefer to see you naked first thing in the morning, but that outfit is almost as good."
"Miller!" She props a fist on her hip. "I was talking about the room!"
"What about it?"
Her eyes narrow at the same time she blows out a breath. She can try to fool me, but I'm onto her game. I hold her gaze, grinning knowingly.
"I thought we discussed this wouldn't be awkward. Are we going to have to set boundaries?"
"You can try, but I'm not a big fan of rules."
"I haven't had enough coffee to handle you this morning."
"From my experience, you never needed coffee to handle me in the morning."
This time she throws her head back to the ceiling, mumbling something about me being impossible. I trail my eyes over her one last time and decide to let her off the hook.
"You did well, I don't see too much damage to the walls." I knock on the drywall.
"Thanks, but I'm afraid the upstairs wasn't as easy."
"You've already finished up there?"
"Yes."
"How long have you been at this?"
"I couldn't sleep so I started early."
"Those are high ceilings. Told you I'd work on them later today."
"No need. I used the ladder."
My playful mood vanishes and irritation spikes. After she picked out the materials for her kitchen, she was rearing to get going on something physical. Since I had a few loose ends to wrap up before moving my time over to her project, I sent daily task lists.
Most of it was easy and tedious. Even through text messages, it was easy to read into her frustration at being bored. When I mentioned it was time to get the wallpaper down in the rooms and bathrooms, she jumped at the chance. Her bitter attitude turned eager, and she assured me she’d finish today.