Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
“There’s a box of mac and cheese in the cabinet,” I tell her. “I know there is.” It’s barely enough for the two of them, but it’ll do. They get free breakfast and lunch at school, thanks to the generosity of the NYC school system, but dinner’s another story.
“Yeah,” she says with a sigh. “But the little bit of milk we have left is bad, and there’s no butter.”
Fuck.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I say.
Someone clears their throat behind me, and I quickly swivel around. From where I’m standing, I can see there’s a man in a suit drumming his fingers on the glass countertop, but I can’t see much else. Damn it. Chandra’s three aisles over helping another customer. It’s just me here.
“Just a minute, Bailey,” I say, walking back over to the counter.
I look up… and up… and up.
This man’s huge. So tall and so broad, he’d look like a linebacker for the Jets if he wasn’t dressed in a suit that looks like it costs my yearly wages. But it isn’t just his height and breadth that makes my stomach tighten when I look at him. It isn’t the clench of his strong, chiseled jaw. Or the sapphire blue eyes that pierce right through me with utter disdain.
It's that he’s fucking glaring at me, his lips pinched together like he’s just tasted something bad. I can’t decide if I want to apologize or slap him.
“Sorry to interrupt your conversation with your boyfriend,” he says, his tone riddled with disdain, and God, his voice sounds like sex. Deep and smooth, like gourmet chocolate.
Wait. Hold the phone.
Boyfriend?
“But I’d like to order a cup of coffee sometime today,” he finishes with a scowl. “Do you think you can tear yourself away long enough to fill that order?”
“Excuse me?”
What the hell?
“Coffee,” he repeats, then makes a pouring motion with his hand and air-sips the pretend cup. Flicking his wrist, he looks at his obnoxious gold Rolex. “Today?”
To my surprise, there’s a tattoo that peaks under the bright white cuff of his shirt and it catches me off guard. Everything else about him seems so highbrow and conservative.
Whatever.
Like I give a shit.
“Yes, of course,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “I’ll be right with you.”
I turn my back to him and can swear I feel him seething from where I stand. My cheeks flame. Damn my fair, pale skin. He’ll see my pink cheeks and for some reason, I hate that.
“Bailey,” I whisper into the phone. “I’m sorry, babe, you’ll have to use water.”
She sighs. “Okay. Can you pick something up tonight?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “I promise.” Marla will give me my tips before I leave, and that’ll be enough for at least a few things. “I gotta go.”
We hang up and I square my shoulders to face the man at the counter. King Douchebag.
Most of the customers who come in here are pretty decent. We have our regulars, and many of Club Verge members come in here on occasion. But it’s NYC, and we also have our fair share of jerks.
“What can I get you, sir?”
I glare right back at the beautiful bastard with my hands on my hips, but at first, he doesn’t answer. Instead, he drags his gaze from my eyes to my collarbone, then lower, lingering on my cleavage. Figures, the one good thing my mama gave me was a decent set of boobs, but now I wish I was wearing a bulky sweater, and not this thin little V-neck top. But laundry day is Saturday, and the laundromat costs a lot of money, so I try to wear things a few times, and my clothing options are really limited.
He doesn’t stop there, though but lets his gaze roam over my softly-rounded tummy, the hands placed on my full hips, then once he’s given me a painfully slow once-over, he goes all the way back up to the top again until he finally meets my eyes. I’m so shocked by his bold perusal of my body my mouth drops open. I clamp it shut when I realize he’s smirking at me.
Yeah, I’ve made up my mind about him alright.
I want to slap him.
“Please,” he drawls, in that sexy-as-sin voice. “The largest cup of coffee you have.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“No. Black.”
Of course.
I turn to pour him his cup of coffee when I realize the light’s off on the thing.
Shit. One of us must’ve hit the breaker by accident.
“Just a minute,” I tell him. “Unfortunately, it looks like our machine’s unplugged. I’ll have to make you another pot.”
He sighs with exasperation.
“Excellent. I’ll just wait here, then.”
“Why don’t you do that,” I mutter. I keep my back to him, and hear footsteps approaching. Marla’s making her way to us from the back room, her hair tied up in a ponytail, nose smudged with dust. She was likely doing inventory and came to check on the front end.