Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30766 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Does he realize how crazy he is? I shake my head at the thought. This guy does not deserve my compassion. But then he takes me by surprise.
“Yeah, I would love to read them,” he says casually. “Can we set up a time?”
“Great,” I say with a light-hearted flip of my hair. “No, no appointment necessary. Why don’t you give me your email address, and I’ll send them to you during working hours? I need to go now.”
But he steps in my way again, that massive form looming.
“Wait, I have questions.”
“Send them to my secretary,” I say flippantly, praying he can’t hear my pounding heart. “I’m at the Two One Two.”
He glowers again, those blue eyes raking up and down my form. To my shame, I go hot all over, my insides loosening and moistening. How can this be happening? This guy is a monster who sprang out of nowhere to assault me on the sidewalk. How can I be physically attracted to him? But it’s easy to see why. Between that perfect physique and penetrating blue eyes, any woman would be ready to melt at his command. Meanwhile, Pierce Lane fixes me with that cobalt gaze again.
“Why did you come down on me so hard? What’s the deal with you? Do you do that to all unsuspecting men? Or is it part of your schtick?”
Shaking my head, I turn to leave.
“I’m sorry that my column offended you, Mr. Lane, but that’s for me to know. I’m going home now. My email is right there at the bottom of the column, so feel free to reach out.”
I peer into the street, considering just hailing a yellow cab to end this saucy interaction, but then he intercedes.
“No!” he growls. “If you were comfortable saying all this bullshit about me in writing, then you can sure as hell do it in person. Don’t hide behind your newspaper, Miss Henderson,” he practically sneers. But I give it like I take it.
“You mean like how you hid behind a gift?” is my snappy reply.
He glowers.
“Now we’re talking. Come on. I’m right here. Lay it into me.”
“I don't need to lay it into you. I said everything I needed to say in my column,” is my huffy retort. He ignores the frantic tone to my voice.
“Well, I want to defend myself.”
I shake my head.
“No, it’s out of the question. I’m not getting into an arguing match with you on the streets of New York. Do you realize how crazy you are? I should call the police.”
“Okay then.” The man holds up his hands as if admitting defeat. “Let’s talk about this like adults, instead of hurling insults in public. Can I buy you a cup of coffee somewhere? What do you say?”
I stare at him. No way am I going, but at the same time, I know if I don’t he’s going to keep harassing me in public, and the last thing I want is a scene. So grudgingly, I nod. Fortunately, we’re right by a place that does raspberry croissants that I’ve been dying to try. Setting my lips in a grim line, I nod.
“Fine,” is my grudging reply.
And with that, I’m off to my first date with this handsome, utterly infuriating man.
4
Pierce
Casey seems to have a place in mind. The curvy girl walks briskly in front of me as she crosses the street, but nothing can stop that big bottom from swaying. I’m entranced just watching it until I catch myself. This is your nemesis, the voice in my head warns. Don’t lose it.
Right. I’m here to take care of business of a sort. We end up at a brightly colored cafe called Le Pain Et Moi. It’s decorated with frilly curtains and slightly terrifying porcelain dolls that stare at you from the countertops. Who did the interior décor of this place? Super freaky, for sure. The barista, with his long, perfectly manicured beard, tamps and pulls away at the hissing espresso machine amidst a collage of old film stars.
But even if the décor is weird, at least the food looks good. The pastries under the glass counter are like something out of a fairy tale. Glazed cakes and pies are piled high in a variety of colors. Sprinkles abound, and there’s plenty of creamy mascarpone cheese as well as colorful whipped toppings.
A British girl with long dreadlocks leads us to a table. It still has sugar packets stuck to the table in a half-moon of leftover water. Gross. Looking bored, she wipes the water and paper away with a cloth and then yawns while handing us the menus, but I hand mine right back.
“Just an espresso for me, thanks.”
She nods before glancing at Casey. I also take this opportunity study my nemesis. The curvy girl’s craning her neck, seemingly peeking into the pastry case at the front counter. She glances back at her menu, then back at the case before letting out a gusty sigh. I shake my head ruefully, as this is already taking far longer than I wanted. I just want to cut to the chase and talk about the article.