Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“His feelings are none of my concern.” He dismisses me and heads into his office.
“Well,” I scoff, “they should be. You could really use a lesson in how to speak to people.” He stalls in his step and turns back around with a slowness that has nerves traveling down my spine. Shit. “I mean. . . just saying.”
He walks to my desk, stopping when his fancy leather shoes hit my heels, and leans down, his face too close to mine. “Do you have a problem with how I speak to you, Miss Evans?”
His breath smells like coffee and mint. I hold my breath, unable to respond. Why does he have to sound so seductive? It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes because I don’t deserve to be talked to like that, when my gaze drops to his lips. Wetting my bottom lip, I find my voice. “You can speak to me however you please, Mr. Monroe. It doesn’t affect me either way. Now, unless you need anything else, I have work to do.”
“The email. Reply to it.” Then he storms back into his office, slamming the door behind him.
Jerk.
“Wow, this is record-setting.”
I laugh at Amy as I walk in. “Waiting for my plaque on the wall.”
“Hey, maybe they’ll give you an award at the staff appreciation event!”
“Banking on it!” I wave and head down death row to my desk to conquer day four. I practiced my mantra the whole way to work: Don’t stab him with my envelope opener. Don’t stab him with my envelope opener. Don’t stab him with my envelope opener.
Last night was a bunch of bull. Working late, my ass. He had me alphabetize his entire filing system—so what if he ordered really good takeout—while he kept his head down, wearing a ridiculously sexy pair of black-rimmed glasses, reviewing reports.
By the time I was done, I could barely hide the venom in my tone when I said good night. Because what I was really wishing was that his night consisted of getting a horrible rash all over his balls. Sadly, that only made me think about. . . well, his balls. I may have taken my frustration out on my battery-operated lover, moaning Theo’s name as I orgasmed. Whatever. Like I said, desperation looks good on me.
Today is a new day, though, and I refuse to let him affect me. I’m going to do my job and go out for Thirsty Thursday. I’m drinking tonight—no matter what he says!
Theo is at his desk when I pop in with his coffee. “Morning, Mr. Monroe. Here’s your coffee. I’ll be right back with your agenda.” The key is to not make eye contact. His eyes are what get me. Alluring, mysterious, and angry all the time.
His deep voice sends a tickle up my back as I walk to the door. “We have an important meeting today. I expect you to be in attendance and professional.”
I mimic his words under my breath, then slap a smile on and turn to face him. “Of course, Mr. Monroe.” I twist back around, rolling my eyes. And here I was, wondering how he’s not married or has a girlfriend.
I spend the next hour preparing. I’ve never hosted a meeting before, so I have no idea what to expect. But I do know that food always makes things better—especially fresh-baked pastries from the bakery I’ve been eyeing down the street. Once I put an order in, I head to the copy room.
While the reports print, I read the meeting notes Theo sent me. Today’s meeting is with a private investment company that got lucky during the market crash and bought land so undervalued it might as well have been free. MIC wants to partner with them, break the land down into four parcels, and sell it off, making both companies almost a billion in revenue. The machine beeps, and I snag the copies and head to the conference room.
Amy is walking out as I get to it. “Hey, your bakery order was delivered. I put the pastries on a tray for you.”
“Wow, thank you. Still warm?”
“The delivery guy pinky-promised they came straight from the oven.”
“Perfect.”
“Oh, and I set out coffee and water.”
“You’re the best!” A herd of businessmen walks toward me, and I slap on a smile. “Good morning, gentlemen. It’s a pleasure to see you. Please head in and enjoy a fresh pastry before we get started.”
I greet each big wig as they pass me into the room. At the end of the line is Theo, his scowl in place. “Mr. Monroe,” I greet him with a friendly smile. “Make sure to grab a pastry.” As expected, he walks past me without a simple hello or “go team” smile. Asshole.
I close the door and get to work, walking around the table and laying the reports in front of the men in attendance. Everyone is enjoying the pastries. . . well, except Mr. Crabby Pants, and I use it as an opportunity to make small talk. Unlike the cold-as-ice CEO sitting at the head of the table, his clients are enjoying the personal touch of friendly conversation and sugar.