Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Miss Bristol gazes at me with those dark-chocolate eyes gleaming. “You...you do realize I’m still here, right? You don’t have to talk about me in third person, you know.”
Amusement wars with raw agitation in my blood. I chase back a grin.
That feisty, take-no-shit attitude was cute at the park and landed her a job offer, but she’s not bringing it into my office.
“That’s the second time you’ve told me what to do since I came into the room. We need to get something straight if you want to work here,” I tell her, locking eyes. “I’m the boss. You work under me. You won’t be using that spear of a tongue unless I want it put to work. Got it?”
Before she can answer, enjoying the stricken, red-faced contempt souring her angelic face, I fold my arms on the table and lean into her personal space.
“Now do you want this job or not?”
She glares at me, pushes her chair back, and stands. “You know, on second thought, I don’t think I need to debase myself by working—”
Ridiculous.
She can’t be serious, can she?
“Think fast before you walk.” I can’t fucking help it, I laugh. “Not many people get a job with Cadillac health insurance right out of college, and two-hundred-thousand-dollar salaries don’t show up every day, especially for graphic designers from purr-niture companies.”
Her face goes deeper red and her jaw pinches, but she takes a deep breath, then hisses it out as her soul leaves her body. “Wait, what? Did you...did you say two hundred thousand dollars? Per year?”
The look she gives me turns my balls into overgrown Alaskan blueberries.
I don’t know what it is about this girl—actually, I do, it’s the feistiness—but I want her bad.
I see her pinned hard against my desk, skirt torn off, and me standing over her with my pants down, fingers pinched tight into that deliriously spankable ass, thrusting like the devil until she—
No. What the hell am I thinking?
Besides being hideously inappropriate, this company needs more office sex scandals like it needs a crushing lawsuit.
Fuck.
My eyes shift to Ruby, who’s trying hard not to look past us, keeping her above this silly fray.
“Take Miss Bristol’s reaction to the compensation package as acceptance of employment. Get her set up within the hour, and her company email live in the next ten minutes. Call IT.”
Ruby blinks like a tired cat, unfazed by my tone.
She’s used to my shit.
Meanwhile, Sabrina Bristol glares at me like she’s holding an invisible cigarette she’d love to stab out on my forehead.
What’s her problem? I just offered her a job with a salary five times what she made at her old one. Beyond generous by big city entry-level standards, even if every dollar costs a person in this role a little more of their sanity.
Shaking my head, I ignore her death glare and exit the room before she makes me do something I’ll regret.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, the sleek black town car pulls up outside the building, a familiar shark darting through the crowded downtown traffic.
I yank on the back door and climb in before Felix Armstrong can open the door for me. My mind’s already reeling from the day, which is probably a good thing, because I haven’t had time to dwell on this literary event I’m attending.
The academy wasn’t my favorite place when I was a surly teenager. When I graduated, I hoped I’d never have to see it again.
The black leather seat feels cool to the touch, a comfortable place to lounge. Armstrong has picked up my coffee on the way. It’s still steaming from the cup holder as he reaches down and passes it back to me.
I grab the cup like a precious chalice and take a swig, letting the caffeinated heat roll down my throat. “Thanks for the morning joe.”
“I got you, boss. Any place, anytime. How’re you doing today?”
“Fine,” I toss back, a single word that says how I really am.
Armstrong gets it. He’s been my driver long enough to know from my tone that today isn’t a time for idle chitchat.
My phone chimes with an email alert.
I put the coffee cup back in the cupholder and grab my phone. I’m trying to score three more major ad clients this week, and I can’t lose a second in the negotiations.
I tap on the email icon and see Ruby’s name with Sabrina Bristol cc’d, so I’ll have her new work email.
I smile. Welcome to the fold.
I’ve got her housewarming committee ready.
Opening a spreadsheet of five hundred projects, all in various stages of the contract process, I hit share and send it to Miss Bristol, copying Ruby on it.
To: Sabrina Bristol
From: Magnus Heron
Priority: HIGH
Subject: To Do
Ms. Bristol,
You’re incredibly eager to get started, and I’m happy to oblige. See the mess of a spreadsheet attached and the instructions below.