Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Maybe because he hadn’t been attempting to steal someone’s identity back then, I thought grimly as I turned away from the photo and sipped my coffee. “Any idea what game he’s playing?”
According to Kenji’s info, Rowe had no background in app development, no company that needed funding. So what the hell had brought him to the city looking for a meeting with Justin Hardy?
Kenji turned from the wall, set his hands on his lean hips, and regarded me for a long moment. “You mean besides the game of impersonating a fictional person, probably in an attempt to ingratiate himself with the people at the gala so he can steal their money?”
I grunted. It was a fair assessment, and it shouldn’t have set me on edge as much as it did. “He won’t be getting any from me, that’s for damn sure.”
“Oh, no, you’re far too smart for that, sir.” Kenji cocked his head to one side, though his shiny hair was too well-groomed to budge. “You’re merely spending the afternoon enjoying polo with him.”
“First off, the match is for charity.” I fixed him with a steely glare. “As my assistant loves to remind me, networking and being philanthropic is an important part of my job as a member of Sterling Chase’s board of directors.”
“I see.” Kenji rolled his eyes. “You’re associating with the sexy schemer for philanthropic purposes. Such a giver.”
“And secondly,” I went on, ignoring a pulse of something at Kenji’s description of Rowe, “I’m going because I have a gorgeous mare with a blaze on her nose and three white socks who’s been sadly neglected for weeks.”
“Ah. You’re cavorting with the cute con artist for Starlight’s sake.”
The weight of my personal assistant’s judgment was crushing, but I forced myself to straighten in my seat. “If you have something to say, Kenji, say it.”
“Moi? I’d never presume to tell my boss his business…”
“Of course not.”
“But since you’re asking.” Kenji plopped into the heavy wooden side chair on the other side of my desk, his tablet on his lap. “What the heck is so special about this guy, Sebastian? If you’re looking for a hookup, I could find you a hundred men who aren’t liars or users and have a whole lot more in common with you than a guy from a tiny speck of a town who has an annual subscription to Furniture Refinishing Quarterly Magazine and recently worked the customer service desk at…” He glanced down at his tablet. “Bobby’s Tech Barn.”
I picked up a pen from the desk and toyed with it idly, staring at Rowe’s picture on the wall screen. I’d wrestled with that very question for hours after I’d finally fallen into bed last night. Why Rowe?
Because he was gorgeous? Because he had a face like an angel and a body that seemed like it would fit perfectly against mine? Well, yes, but Kenji was right; I could find that lots of places.
Because he lied like every word was being wrenched from him, but when he told the truth, he spoke with passion that couldn’t possibly be fake? That, too. But not just that, either.
Because he had secrets, and I was insanely curious about them?
Because he was adorably awkward, and I wanted to protect him from anything that could hurt him, including himself?
Because he was fucking with me, and I wanted to rage at him and throttle him?
Because he made me feel wrong-footed and on edge and amused and constantly surprised, but he made me feel… and I hadn’t realized how dull and emotionless my life had become until he’d practically face-planted in it and shaken it up?
Yes. All of that.
And more besides.
Last night at the gala, my chest had gone tight when Rowe had wished me a good night and walked away. I’d wanted badly to call out to him, to confess that I wasn’t actually his personal assistant, and to take him home to my bed. Of course, I hadn’t been quite that foolish… but I hadn’t been able to stop myself from turning to watch him leave.
I’d witnessed the whole spectacle when he’d walked directly into Mitzy Forman, gasped in apologetic shock, and reached for his pocket square, only to pull out a piece of red silk tied to a piece of yellow silk tied to a piece of green silk. Yards of pocket square and bits of card stock flowed out of his suit, a veritable flood of color against the black and white of the room.
Rowe had been horrified. He’d also been charming. I’d laughed my ass off, more amused than any attendee at a society charity gala had a right to be. And when Silas had shepherded me around the room later, forcing me to shake hands with the required number of society notables, I’d knelt and picked up one of the discarded business cards and tucked it away like a knight with a lady’s favor.