Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 151864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
“Well, for a start, you haven’t looked at my tits this morning.”
I look at Gina, finding an accusing glare. Then I drop my eyes to her breasts. “Happy?” I ask, returning to my computer.
“Delighted,” she quips, walking away. “Your mother called.”
“What for? I’ve already spoken to her this morning.”
“Told me to RSVP to a wedding invitation.” Gina stops at the door and gives me worried eyes that I choose to ignore. She knows about the wedding in question because she gave me the invite months ago and told me, very gently, to let her know what my plans were so she could accept or decline on my behalf. I never did tell her my plans. I tossed that invite aside and bullied my brain into forgetting about it. “So you’re going?” she asks.
“Looks like it.” I take a sip of my coffee thoughtfully, running through potential plus-ones.
“Is she going to be there?” she asks cautiously.
I look up and find pursed lips. Gina knows everything. I was forced to tell her after that one time she put a call through from the bitch and, as a result, I got myself steaming drunk and arrested. Gina was my one call. “Yes,” I growl, falling into thought.
The door shuts, and I swear I hear my loyal assistant quietly hiss “the bitch” as it clicks. I couldn’t agree more. I drop back in my chair, exhausted by the morning already. And I’ve only been in the office for half an hour.
At nine fifty, I exit my office warily, scanning the corridor for . . . no one. “Boo,” Gina shouts, making me jump like a scared cat. She starts chuckling behind her desk.
“You’re not funny,” I snap, rearranging the collar of my shirt, looking down on a furrowed brow when I note something’s missing. “Did you get my tie cleaned?”
“Yes.” Gina’s phone starts ringing. “In two hours, I got to the launderette, had it washed, dried, and ironed, and went back to collect it. All while doing my day job.” She answers her phone. “Good morning, Ty Christianson’s office. Gina speaking.”
I wrinkle my nose and head toward the conference room, nodding and smiling to every member of my staff that I pass, but my mind is somewhere else. Like in my bed last night trying to find the determination and sense I talked into myself while I tossed and turned like an idiot. Professional. You can be professional, Ty.
I skulk past Sal’s office, virtually sticking myself to the wall to avoid being seen by . . . no one, and speed-walk to the conference room. I make it unscathed and push my way through the door, closing it and falling against the wood. I’m fucking sweating.
“Hi.”
I freeze.
Oh fuck.
She’s here? What’s she doing in here? I clear my throat, making a point of not looking at her. “Hi.” I stroll to the other end of the conference room, if only for something to do. “Where’s everyone?” Sal’s always in the conference room ten minutes early. Like me. And I’m here now. And he isn’t. And she is. Again, what the fuck is she doing in here?
“Oh, you don’t know?”
I force myself to look at her. And immediately regret it, because all composure abandons me. Poof. Gone. She looks fucking stunning, her lithe body wrapped in a black dress, her hair piled up with a few well-placed strands framing her face. My cock weeps, part with want, part with sadness. “Know what?”
“The meeting’s been delayed by fifteen minutes. I emailed your PA. Gina, is it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I emailed her to let her know.” She sets a tray I hadn’t noticed she was holding in the center of the conference table. “I’m just getting things ready.”
I look down at the pastries I usually dribble over, searching for my appetite. Fucking Gina. I’m going to kill her as soon as I’m out of here. Just as I decide that I’m out of here now and make my way to the door—because it’s not safe for me to be in a room alone with this woman—I hear a quiet curse.
“Damn it.” There’s a clatter from behind, and I turn to find Lainey juggling a tray of glasses haphazardly.
I’m over to her quickly, relieving her of the tray, but as I remove it from her hands, she jerks, sending the jug toppling off the side. Right down my shirt. I gasp as the cold water hits my chest, and quickly discard the tray to pull the soaked material away from my skin. “Fuck, that’s cold.”
“Oh my God,” Lainey shrieks, horrified. “I’m so sorry.” Her hand covers her mouth, embarrassed.
“Hey, don’t sweat it.” I release my shirt and let it stick back to my chest, enduring the shock of cold. “I’m fine. It’s fine, honestly.”
“You’re drenched.” Her hands are on me before I know it, fussing and faffing. But I don’t get the opportunity to remove them, or enjoy it, because Lainey yanks them back quickly. And on a gasp.