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)
Put some thought into it, you little prick.
Wolf Boy’s mouth never quits flapping.
Sabrina rests her elbow on the tabletop, planting her chin into her hand.
Good. She’s bored.
Why do you care? a voice inside me screams.
“Armstrong, you want a coffee?” I ask, my voice pure frostbite.
He looks up, his forehead wrinkled, and lets out a nervous laugh. “I wondered if you were ever getting out of the car. Sure, boss man, that’d be great.”
I nod. “Regular with heavy cream?”
“I’ll take a sugar free cinnamon latte,” he says.
“You drink cinnamon lattes too?”
He nods. “Brina bought me one the other week. They’re pretty good, and since they have sugar free syrup, I can have it.”
“You call her Brina?”
“She told me to, man.” He laughs, flashing me a whimsical look in the rearview mirror.
Damn. Since when?
Has the whole frigging office been calling her Brina while I’m still dancing around Miss Bristol, hell-bent on keeping that stick up my ass?
I’m such a fool.
She told me I could call her Brina before the kiss, but with the way I’ve ignored her for the past month, I’m sure that offer was revoked.
I slip inside unnoticed since she’s facing the other way.
After ordering a sugar free cinnamon latte and a regular cinnamon latte—I’m going to find out what the big deal is about this drink for myself—I sit down in the empty chair behind Wolf Boy.
Sabrina’s eyes are glazed over. She looks like she’s about to fall asleep in her drink, nodding every so often like she has invisible puppet strings attached.
Poor girl. She’s so bored she can’t hold her head up.
“Why did it take you so long to message me back?” Wolf Boy asks with a shitty grin, smug and punchable.
“I’m usually busy running around for my asshole tyrant boss,” Brina says, catching her face as it slouches in her palm.
The movement shifts her eyes, though. I love the spark of recognition, turning them into burning wood circles.
I wave so she can see me.
She perks up, alarmed, back straight, head up, but her lips are a savage line.
Her eyes are alert but not friendly.
“Surprise,” I mouth, hoping she can lip read.
Is she happy I’m here, or pissed? Or maybe she’s just embarrassed because she practically called me an asshole tyrant to my face?
“What’re you doing here?” she mouths back, shaking her head.
Her college boy turns around to find out who she’s looking at, raising an eyebrow when he spots me.
“Dude,” he whispers with mixed curiosity and annoyance.
I extend my hand.
He shakes it limply.
“Magnus Heron, CEO of Heron Communications.” I use my full title with great pleasure. “The asshole tyrant boss Sabrina works for.”
“Heron? Oh. Oh, shit!” He drops my hand and slides closer to the table. “My dad used to work there, in the mail room.”
“Ah, I thought I recognized you. Who’s your old man?”
“Joe...” He trails off, looking at Sabrina. “Uh...sorry to cut this short, but I just remembered I need to let the dog out!”
The kid damn near runs out the door, leaving his coffee on the table.
I smirk. “Where’d you find that winner?”
She rolls her eyes.
“Tinder. My roommate helped.”
“You two sure know how to pick them.”
“You know, you’re right.” She cocks her head. “I have pretty bad taste in men. I did let you kiss me, after all.”
I glare at her.
“We weren’t supposed to mention that again,” I growl.
“True. But I also don’t recall inviting you on my date. Did you have to go all stalker?”
“Funny. I didn’t know I needed an invitation to save you.”
“Save me from what? I was having a good time.”
“Of course you were. People in the morgue are livelier,” I tell her. “And you weren’t answering my urgent texts. Part of the reason your salary’s so high is because you’re always on call. You understand?”
“Are you a doctor?” she asks, twirling her hair, strands of cinnamon in the light.
“What?”
“Do you stop people from bleeding to death for a living?” she asks.
I narrow my eyes. Where’s she going with this?
“No, of course not, I—”
“Are you an attorney, Mag? Do you request emergency stays on death row convictions or get kids out of abusive homes?”
This has to be a trap.
“No.”
“Okay, then there’s nothing at that office that can’t wait a couple hours for me to have a life on a Friday night right before the calendar flips over. Got it?”
I stare at her, magma in my veins, so hot it’s intoxicating.
“You realize I’m the boss, right?”
“Sometimes. Right now, you’re acting more like a crazy stalker.”
I ignore the remark.
“I’ll give you a ride home.”
“Nope. I’m so pissed at you I’d rather walk home in this zero degree weather. But these heels are killing my feet, so...maybe.” She shrugs and looks me straight in the eye as she stands. “You’re actually clueless, aren’t you? You have no idea how big of an asshole you are. That’s the worst part.”