Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 161434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Okay. I’m a teensy bit impressed.
Somewhere behind that smirk, he has a functioning brain, and one hemisphere might be dedicated to something besides sex and bourbon.
“Interesting idea. I didn’t know you were smart.” Oops. Wincing, I cover my face with my hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
Not out loud, anyway.
He flashes this brutal half smile like I just paid him a compliment.
“Better you’re reminded what I can do when I’m not finding new ways to make you miserable, Miss Halle.” The way his smile evaporates makes me think he’s almost serious.
God.
“Did your grandmother ever design a glass building like that? It feels like her style,” I say, smiling as I remember the times I’ve flipped through Beatrice Nightingale Brandt’s many, many shock-and-awe galleries of breathtaking designs.
He nods. “I told him to go check out her gallery at the art museum before he leaves town.”
“I like helpful you. Do you know where Doctor Boring’s seminar is?” I ask before his head swells with pride.
“Yep. Follow me, Halle,” he says with a flourish of his arm.
On the way over, I can’t decide if I’m annoyed or happy he keeps calling me by my last name. It keeps a comfortable distance, like I’m still some guy carting him around and the mistaken identity thing never happened.
On the other hand, it keeps a comfortable distance.
A deep, dark, quietly insane part of me thinks that’s a problem.
Dr. Boring turns out to be as short as me with grey hair hanging above her shoulders.
She talks faster than a caffeinated chipmunk. These notes might suck.
Also, I keep getting hung up, wondering what things like sustainable ergonomics and industrialized pastiche mean.
Dear Lord.
I’m not even sure I have them spelled right. He really should’ve asked someone else to tag along who’s versed in technobabble.
It doesn’t help that I hate being stuck in a classroom all day. It’s so high school. This is half the reason I decided on a life on the road, knowing I could never hack grad school, let alone a desk job.
Nick slides a notepad over with a few sentences jotted down in ink.
We have to quit calling her Doctor Boring. Her name is Bowling. Can you believe it? She’s Boring Bowling.
It’s hard not to giggle.
I pick up my pen and scribble a message back. Shut up before you get us in trouble. You made me come here!
I slide it back to him. I’m rewarded with that million-dollar smile.
Two minutes later, the notepad slides in front of me again. My conference notes have gone from bad to nonexistent, but I’m not sure either of us care. I look down to read what he wrote.
“Trouble?” What are we? High schoolers?
Nope. Definitely not.
Nicholas Brandt and I wouldn’t have even breathed the same oxygen in high school. He’d be so far out of my league I couldn’t even buy tickets.
I scrawl another quick message that reads, I avoided bad boys in high school. No one needs a rap sheet before they’re eighteen.
Orphans don’t especially.
Too honest? I wonder.
He studies my note quietly, staring at it before he purses his lips and answers in that slashing script of his. Is that what you think? I’m a bad boy?
I meet his glowing green gaze. His playful demeanor is gone.
Frowning, I quickly write out, You’re not a bad guy. You just find trouble easily. Sorry. I was careful to keep out of trouble back in school.
His reply comes faster this time. Shame. I had you pegged for a partier, Halle.
You also had me pegged for a man, I write, sending it back to him with a little more force than intended.
Nick bursts out laughing, cutting the not-so-good doctor off mid-sentence.
Whoops.
Boring Bowling narrows her eyes, scowling. She stares at him and then at me with a blank face, tapping her foot impatiently like the fussy professor she is.
A couple of balding men in front of us turn, looking to see what caused the commotion.
Yep. We’re back in high school, all right.
Brandt holds his hand up in apology. After a few more seconds of glaring, Boring Bowling picks up right where she left off.
I’m already bored out of my skull when Nick slides the paper over again.
When are we going to let that mistake go, Miss Halle?
I pause, pondering before I write, When you quit buying lame gifts, maybe. Also, that chuckle fit is proof you were trouble in high school.
Then the worst thing happens.
This sly, bright smirk curls across his face that leaves me in ruins.
I’m almost afraid to read what’s on the paper when he slides it back. Eep.
Sweetheart, if I’d known you in high school, we would have gotten in WAY more trouble than that. Way is not just all in caps, but underlined three times.
Holy hell. My mind wants to pull me into a dozen bad places, and they’re all filthy.