Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“The emergency, yes. Well, it seems like—I hate to say it—but the whole back section of our fence is on fire. Yes. Yes. I think a little bit of the side too.” He shifts a step to the left and cranes his head. “Just a small fire. It got slightly out of control. Quite windy today. Yes. Thank you.” He hangs up and passes me my phone. “The fire department should be here in ten.”
I’m not all about the clichés. Truly. I actually hate them with a burning passion of…well…my backyard fence, which is all on fire. Like, every bit of it. I’m not sure how Asher can stay so calm when there’s a wall of flames out there.
But it appears that my life is going up in flames.
CHAPTER 5
Asher
Well, this certainly wasn’t what I was expecting.
Sirens, firefighters, a backyard up in flames, and is that an ax in the kitchen?
I wait in the house, but only because the fiery goddess—perhaps literally—tells me to and skewers me with a gaze cold enough to freeze the flames erupting in her yard—this one not literally since we needed the firefighters.
I take a seat on one of the baby blue couches. It’s an interesting choice of color. They’re clearly supposed to resemble mid-century furniture, though they do a poor job at best. The house is ancient, probably built somewhere around the time my granny’s designs took off, which was in 1974. I can tell spots have been opened up over the years. Someone attempted to do something with it, putting down laminate flooring and a new kitchen, though both seem to have been done at least twenty to thirty years ago. The updates are now outdated.
Well, enough about the house. I shift my attention back to the topic I’ve been using the house to avoid. Emily Wellson. Yes, I know her name, as I really did go through the company files. I found her address there, just as I told her. No one tried to stop me because I did it during off hours, but even if someone was there, I don’t think they would have denied me access to my own employee’s information.
Emily Wellson. Age thirty-one. I know how long she’s worked for the company and how she started as an assistant and is now a manager, but other than that, I know nothing about her.
I suppose I can add that she might be an ax-wielding pyromaniac, but maybe that’s too harsh. Or perhaps it’s not harsh at all. I’m a little bit nervous about dating a woman who lights things on fire in her backyard, keeps an ax in her kitchen, and kisses random strangers. Until a few minutes ago, I thought the last part was bad enough.
Christ. The dating might be fake, but I’ll be lucky if I escape with my balls attached to my body. Granny would love this. She’d take one look at the backyard and laugh her butt off. She’d tell me karma has cold teats. I’ve given her a run for her money all her life, and so has my mom. I guess maybe it’s coming back around to me.
Literally.
Because Emily steps through the back door, walks through the kitchen silently, and sits down across from me. I’m not sure how someone who just went through all that could offer such a stony expression. Her hair puts those earlier flames to shame. Her eyes are round, dark, wary, and furious, and her face, even sweaty and streaked with soot, is perfectly angelic. As she stares back at me, her bow lips remain flat and unsmiling.
“I know why you’re here.”
“Really?” I set one ankle on the other and stare Emily down. Her eyes dart away quickly as she grabs a strand of lank, damp hair and twists it between her fingers.
“Oh. Um. I…I imagine it’s about that kiss. I’m sorry. I ran and didn’t come back to work to face you or explain. You’re obviously here because you’re confused. I’m—”
“You don’t need to offer me an explanation.” I really would like one, but I suppose we’re past that now. I inhale deeply. There’s still a hint of vanilla in the room, which I imagine Emily is responsible for unless she uses essential oils or air freshener. It also smells like out-of-control trash fire, but even that isn’t hideous when it clings to a beautiful woman.
What the heck is wrong with me? Trash fire scent is not attractive, axes in kitchens are not sexy, and burning the neighborhood down should be sketchy at best. I’ve dated a lot of beautiful women, but I’m flabbergasted by the thought that none of them compare to Emily, even in her current state. There’s just something different about her.
If by different I mean potentially criminal in the worst way, that would be correct.