Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“You left the door open.” He points behind him to the door that is now shut.
“That didn’t mean come in,” I tell him, and at that moment, my head just turns, and I have to grab the door to steady myself.
“Will you please go and sit down?” he urges me, his voice low like it was in the conference room when he almost kissed me. Well, when we almost kissed each other. When I don’t move fast enough, he snaps, “You can either walk there yourself, or I’ll carry you there.”
“Hey,” I snap, “this is my house.” I do a circle with my hand. “You aren’t the boss of me in my house.” I ignore his glare and decide it’s a good idea to sit down before I fall on my ass. What a scene that would give him, me on my ass in front of him. Instead, I hold on to the wall as I walk to the living room, where I’ve been camping for the last two days. I can feel him right behind me, and I’m even afraid to look over my shoulder with the way my stomach is moving up and down. I finally make it to the couch in what seems to be eighty-four years but is probably a minute if that. My head spins at the same time my stomach lurches up, and I swear I think I’m going to hurl. I sit down and put my head down to stop the wave.
“Can I get you anything?” he asks, and instead of giving me space, the douchebag squats down right in front of me.
“No,” I say softly. “I just need to close my eyes for a second,” I tell him and lean back on the couch.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“Like death,” I admit. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this sick in my life.” I open my eyes and see he’s gotten up from in front of me and now sits off to the side. His ass is on the edge of the couch and his elbows are on his knees as he looks at me.
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” he says, looking at me, worry all over his face.
“I’m pretty sure it’s just the flu,” I tell him. “It started two nights ago when I got home and took a shower.” I put my hand on my stomach. “I thought I felt queasy because Meadow threw up on me. But as the night went on, the nausea just rolled in, then the vomiting started.”
“You probably have what Meadow has.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I retort. “How did you know where I lived?”
“Employee file,” he admits, and my mouth opens in shock.
“That’s very high school of you.” I laugh and then stop when it makes my stomach move too much. “Also, very stalkerish.”
“It’s not stalkerish,” he counters. “It’s not like I followed you home from the bar.”
“No.” I shake my head. “This is even better; you went in my confidential employee file and got my address.”
“I didn’t share it with anyone. It’s still confidential.” He looks around.
“But I didn’t give it to you,” I retort. “I put it on my form.”
“A form I have access to,” he quickly comes back with.
“You should have gone into law,” I try to kid with him, but my energy is drained. “Besides, you’re just here to make yourself feel better for being a jerkface yesterday.” I’m blaming the fact I haven’t eaten in two days and the fact I’m hangry.
“It was two days ago,” he corrects me, “and I did go into law.” He shocks me with his answer, and I make a mental note to ask him about it when I’m not irritated by him.
“That’s what I meant,” I huff. “This is a common theme for you.”
“What is?” he asks, and I’m going to give myself credit for not backing down.
“You being a jerk and then coming back to apologize.” I stick up my index finger. “Usually, it’s done within a day,” I huff. “I mean, even your brother messaged me to ask how I was doing.”
“Nash,” he states, his voice filled with shock and then anger, which is weird. “He texted you?”
“Yes.” I nod. “Loren, also a couple of people from the office. But not you.” I point at him. “No, not Mr. Give Me Back My Daughter,” I say, the scene coming back and making me angry. “Also, can I point out…” I sit up too fast, which is mistake number one, making my stomach queasy. “No one was taking her away. She fell asleep in the car, and I didn’t want to wake her because she said she didn’t feel well.” My voice goes louder, which is mistake number two, making my head pound and turn. I quickly lie back down, but I turn on my side this time. “Then she threw up all over me,” I add, right before my eyes shut. At this point, it takes too much to even try to open them. I’m just going to rest my eyes for a second before I open them again, I think I mumble, but I’m not sure.