Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 794(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
He stares at me, his face set like an unreadable stone.
My toes invert, curling against my feet because I can’t hide the rest of me.
All the brave words in the world can’t override Brock Winthrope’s intimidation stare.
“I’m not trying to insult your marketers just for fun,” I tell him. “And I’m not sure how to say this, but you told me my ability to say things you don’t want to hear made me right for this gig, so I’m just going to go for it—”
“That bad, huh?”
I pause, unsure how to soften the blow. The ads are stale cereal.
“They’re too corporate. Too stiff. A hard sell a decade ago and impossible in this market,” I say.
“Those ads brought my grandfather over a billion dollars a year,” he bites off.
“But times change, don’t they?” I ask gently. “They’re too formal and disconnected. I looked you up, honestly, and I see how they talk about you online.”
“How’s that, Miss Renee?” His stare deepens.
Ugh. Like he doesn’t know.
He’s richer than Midas. Dangerously handsome. Skilled at his craft—supposedly—but everyone worships the brand name more than the man like he’s just a continuation of his world-famous grandfather.
“You’re basically Mr. Young Money, right? I’d guess that’s what you’re trying to attract. Young money after a luxury experience who travel a ton. The old ads aren’t going to cut it. If they rolled across my screen back when I was doing content stuff, I’d keep on scrolling.”
“You’re not doing your travel videos anymore?” He sounds surprised.
My face heats.
Ignore it.
There’s no need to make things more personal, and it’s none of his business anyhow.
“Like I was saying, we’ve just gotten to the negative stuff, but some of it, it’s, well—” How do I say this? “Intense.”
“Tell me something I don’t already know, Miss Renee. I’ve already concluded there are five hundred ways to call my resorts dogshit. When I figure out what the hell’s going on, I’ll sue the perpetrator into smoking ash.” He’s so mad he’s almost growling.
His piercing blue eyes become molten sapphire.
Scary hot, even if I hate that he’s so upset.
“Are you alright? This seems like it’s getting kinda personal,” I say.
His eyes soften. “This isn’t your fault. Clearly. You weren’t even on the radar when it started months ago. It’s just very goddamned frustrating.”
Our eyes connect.
When I realize what’s happening, I rock back slightly.
Oh, God. He’s managed to get under my skin again.
I’m feeling actual sympathy for Brock damn Winthrope.
“Anyhow, I need you on a conference call with my Australian marketing head this evening,” he says slowly. “We need more cross-pollinating across regional divisions if we want fresh ideas. It’s going to be a late night, so order food on the company card.”
Oh.
I rode with Jennifer today because my car kicked the bucket, and I also promised Maisy I’d stay with Dad tonight so she could go out with friends.
She’s just a high school kid. She should get a social life at least a few times a week.
“About that. I’d love to, but—I rode with Jennifer.”
“I’ll have my driver take you home then. We can share a car.”
Eep.
My skin turns to needles as he exhales slowly.
“You hate that idea? Fine, I’ll take a damn Uber. Something tells me I’ll fare better in one than you anyhow, Miss High-Maintenance.”
A startled laugh falls out of me. “Hey, the gentleman is back! Sort of.”
He smirks, stands up, and moves closer.
“After your friend’s comment earlier today, I presume Miss Sunshine kisses and tells,” he rumbles. “That’s a naughty fucking girl.”
I never knew words could be so destructive.
I’m burning down.
Right here.
Mere inches away from those hateful lips with the terrible power to cut me into pieces, drench me in gasoline, and leave me a blazing pyre.
“Dude, I’m sorry. I thought you were some wonky manager in Hawaii I’d never see again when I told her. And the way I reacted when I saw you—” I shrug. “Of course, she knew. I told her to drop it because it was a one-time mishap and we work together now.”
For a second, his nostrils flare, like he’s smelling me and trying very hard not to sink his teeth into my flesh.
Then he jerks back, swiveling on those tall legs and putting more space between us as he pivots to the sweeping view of the city outside.
“Go order dinner, Miss Renee. I’ll see you tonight.”
“...what should I order? Are you eating too?” I ask in a whisper.
“Whatever the hell you want.”
I’m about to self-combust.
We’re sitting on a sleek leather couch in his office, so close our sides are touching.
It’s impossible not to notice how gigantic he is next to me.
Even sitting down, he towers over me, a wall of a man with mile-wide shoulders and a jaw so chiseled it could shame Hercules.
Don’t stare at him. Pippa, don’t—
Oh, but my eyes don’t listen.
They wander over every inch of that button-down shirt wrapped around him so tight it almost looks painted on. His corded muscle is almost obscene when he’s freed from his jacket. My glance flicks helplessly down to his lap with a terrible memory of what I saw in the shower.