Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
A low growl rumbles from his chest and I turn to see him typing away on his phone, so I know it has nothing to do with me. He probably has a supermodel girlfriend who sent him a sexy text. I know I would send him naughty texts at work if he was around other bitches all day. I’d be so damn jealous and seeing red.
I take off his scarf in the car because it’s getting hot and hold it out for him. “Here, Mr. Shaw. Thank you, but it’s quite warm in here.”
“I’ll hold onto it until we leave. I don’t want you to lose it, after all.” He smirks at me, and I’m caught off guard by the killer smile that amplifies his already insane animal magnetism.
“Was that a joke, Mr. Shaw?” I ask.
“I’m not an asshole all the time.”
“I’m not touching that one with a ten-foot pole. I’m trying to keep my job.”
“Wise, Miss Novak. Wise.”
“We’re here,” he says when the car pulls off to the side and comes to a stop. The driver opens the door a moment later and helps me out of the vehicle while Jack slides out right behind me. “Come—my client is meeting us here. All I need you to do is be quiet, take notes, and enjoy your lunch. You’re not familiar with the company, so it’s best to avoid all talk for now.”
“Why am I here again?”
“To be a smart ass, apparently.”
“Ah, a job requirement I can fulfill.” He actually chuckles, which makes his ass even sexier. I’m in trouble. I turn to the door and then gasp because the man we’re meeting happens to be my ex-boss. How in the world is this possible?
“Mr. Shaw, it’s good of you to meet me here. Petra, I didn’t expect you to go running to the competition.”
“Um…this is where the temp agency sent me.”
“You know him,” Mr. Shaw growls. Mr. Dickerson gives me a knowing look as if he’s reading more into Mr. Shaw’s reaction.
“I only worked for Mr. Dickerson’s office for a couple of days, but it didn’t work out.”
“Well, let’s sit down and get this meeting over with,” Mr. Shaw says, leading the way to the table. His hand lightly presses to the small of my back just long enough to create a separation between Dickerson and myself. A change seems to come over Mr. Shaw, and I wonder if he thinks I’m a spy or something.
They talk, and for most of the conversation, Mr. Shaw refuses to talk business. In fact, it’s almost as if he’s intentionally avoiding it. “Excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room.” Mr. Shaw slides out of the way so I can exit the booth and then I walk away, wanting to throw up what little I could manage to eat of my lunch.
I stay in the bathroom a lot longer than I should, but I’m doing my best to hold back the tears. I’m going to get fired for nothing today. There’s a commotion outside of the bathroom, and that’s when I hear my name being called by Mr. Shaw. “Petra.”
“One minute,” I call out, trying to wipe my face.
“Now, or I’m coming in there.” He wouldn’t dare.
“Sir, you can’t go in there. That’s the women’s bathroom,” I hear a man say to Mr. Shaw.
“The hell I can’t.” Is it terrible that I’m tempted to test him? Probably. Still I think better of it and remember that I’m in the middle of a public place and don’t want to cause a scene.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” I open the door before he has the chance to storm inside, and I can see that his expression has changed. He’s gone from grumpy to full of concern.
His hand reaches out to mine, taking it and giving it a forceful yet harmless tug that sends my feet off balance. I jerk slightly and then fix myself. “Come on, we’re leaving.”
A man stops in front of us, blocking our exit from the hall off the main dining area. “Miss, you don’t have to leave with him if you don’t feel safe.”
“She’s more than safe with me.” Mr. Shaw stares at the man for a moment, moving around him.
“You just punched a man in the face.”
“Well, he had it coming,” he states as a matter of fact with a shoulder shrug.
“You hit him?” I gasp, turning to my boss like he’s lost his mind. Jack Shaw looks like he’s hiding brawn under that suit, but it surprises me that he’d use it.
“He said and did something I didn’t like.”
“I’m fine. Are we going back to the office, or should I just walk to the train station?” I ask him. I have my things so it’s not like I can’t just do myself a favor and avoid the walk of shame before I’m canned.