Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Maybe he really does snort cinnamon icing, and he’s waiting to be alone with his precious before he breaks out the credit card.
“Why aren’t you eating the Regis roll while it’s warm?” I ask.
He stares at me for a minute.
“You spat on my roll?” He sounds even angrier about that than he does the coffee.
“Nope—this office has a one psycho limit, and it’s not me. You’re just paranoid,” I say with an exaggerated yawn.
Good thing, too, because he’s hard to look at head-on right now.
There’s something about him when he gets mad. He has that scary-hot thing going with the electric honey-brown eyes and granite shoulders and imposing jaw.
I’d bet my next five Regis rolls that eighty percent of the female population would give up their sanity for a ride on him.
I’m just not part of that eighty percent, even if I’ll admit he rocks the sleek alpha vibe.
Shame that such good looks are wasted on a selfish ogre.
“Then why do you care when I eat my roll?” he demands.
“Isn’t it obvious? You stalked me out of the coffee shop and tried to bribe me over it. The next time you saw me, you bought up every Regis roll in the coffee shop like a middle school punk. But now you finally have a fresh roll and you just...shove it in your desk? What? Come to think of it, I never have seen you eat one.”
“I told you, I have my reasons. They may or may not extend to eating.”
Huh? That’s weird.
For a second, my brain goes horrible places that have nothing to do with my Poe genes. I’m picturing my boss wearing nothing but that tie, the huge roll clenched in his hands, perfectly positioned in front of us—
Dear God. Stop. Surely, he’s above a bad reenactment of American Pie.
“Miss Poe?” he snaps.
I jump.
“What the hell are you looking at?”
I subtly shake my head in disbelief.
“You. You didn’t even want it, I guess. You just had to prove you could get it.”
He shakes his head this time. “I had to prove something, all right. There’s a little redhead in accounting. She wears low-cut dresses made for sin and she likes cinnamon rolls. I’m dating her.”
For a brief moment, I want to slap this redheaded chick, and I don’t know why.
Then I remember what the internet says about my boss and it’s all I can do not to laugh.
“Nice try, but you can cut the crap. Google says you’re undateable.”
Oh, what the hell did I just say? Dammit, Dakota, do you really want this discussion?
His grin could swallow me right up.
“Oh, does it?”
“No—I mean, I wasn’t looking—”
“Of course you weren’t,” he says with an amused snort. “And you called me a stalker...”
“Hey! Standard precautions. I was just trying to find out how crazy you actually are before I quit my job for this one.”
“How psychotic am I, Nevermore?” His eyes sparkle when he smiles and—damn, they’re on my lips again, aren’t they?
When he looks at me like that, this cool Seattle office turns into the Sahara.
Shrugging, I continue. “You’re a workaholic and extremely undateable, they say. But since that was clear from your mantrum, I don’t care. I’m not dating you. And I don’t really care if you’re a workaholic either as long as you pay me that bonus.”
“You’re refreshingly honest. I told you what I need the roll for. Now what selfish asshole burned a hole in your heart?”
I freeze, hating that we’re back here again.
Hating more that I’m still sensitive to the only man on the planet who’s worse than Lincoln Burns.
“You didn’t tell me crap. There’s no chance you’re dating a girl in accounting. You’re too proud of your ‘work culture’ to mess it up by pouncing on a redhead with her boobs hanging out. Also, you’re Captain Undateable, and even if you weren’t...there’s no chance in hell she’d have you.”
A smile twists his lips that almost scares me.
“Hot damn. Maybe I don’t like your honesty as much as I thought,” he muses. “For the record, I thought you named me Captain Dipshit. It’s hard keeping your insults together, isn’t it?”
I’m about to fire back, but the moment of truth arrives.
He picks up the coffee and brings it to his lips.
Oh, yessiree. Here we go.
One second.
One sip.
That’s all it takes before his face blanks out like he’s just eaten a spoonful of fire ants.
He winces. He sputters. He swallows after the world’s longest gurgle, hilariously forced.
Then his eyes flay me open with a slow, sharp look and he says, “Wonderful. I’ve never had coffee this good, Miss Poe. You’re an absolute treasure for correcting my order. I’ll be sure to remember it when it’s time for bonuses.”
Without flinching, I grin.
“Thrilled you enjoyed it. Sometimes you can teach an old hound new tricks. Bye, boss.”
“Nevermore?”
I stop, hating that it feels like that stupid name is growing on me like a messed up part of my identity here. A couple of others in marketing have started using it with laughs.