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)
Emotions flitted across his expressive face as he wrestled with the answer to what should have been a yes or no question. Fear. Nausea. Determination. He straightened his spine.
“Work there?” The man chuckled with excessive enthusiasm. “Ha! Do I work at Sterling Chase? No, my good man. No, indeed. I own the company.” He tapped his name badge proudly. “I… I am Sterling Chase.”
I blinked in disbelief. Beneath the freckles that dotted his nose and cheeks like a kaleidoscope of tiny butterflies, a blush of color crept across his face. A kind of nervous, excited, defiant energy rolled off him in waves… and no wonder. This Not-Sterling person was an angel-faced, sexy-as-fuck, lying liar. And he wasn’t even attempting to be subtle about it.
Despite rumors to the contrary, there was no Sterling Chase. Not a human one anyway. In fact, as only maybe five other people on the planet knew, my friends and I had named the company after their college pets: Silas’s iguana, Chase, and Zane’s ridiculously hairy, pain-in-the-ass Peruvian guinea pig, Sterling.
But even as I stared at the man, waiting for him to back down or equivocate, Not-Sterling set his jaw, threw his shoulders back so forcefully his shirt buttons would have popped if the garment had fit properly, and attempted to look down his nose at me—no mean feat since I was six foot one, and he was at least six inches shorter.
Logic said I should contact security about this man immediately. But a fun-starved corner of my brain reminded me that it had been a hell of a long time since I’d been so intrigued by anything—not by a scientific breakthrough, or an extreme adventure, or the men who occasionally warmed my bed. So when that part of me whispered that I should fuck with the man instead, I listened.
“Sterling Chase.” I gave him a broad smile. “I must say, you’re not at all how I pictured you.”
“I bet.” He coughed lightly. “I mean… I bet you imagined Sterling Chase was old and crotchety?” He nodded to himself. “And you probably thought since Sterling had more money than god, he’d be all high-and-mighty, too, but no. Sterling Chase is down-to-earth. One might even say… quirky. You know, the sort of billionaire who smells like corn chips on purpose.”
Dear god.
I ran a hand over my mouth to hide the smile I couldn’t restrain. “And I imagine talking about yourself in the third person is part of the quirkiness?”
“Er.” His blush deepened, and he stuck a finger in his collar like his tie was suddenly tight. “Yes. Exactly.”
My gaze narrowed on his collar and on the tie that ringed it. I leaned closer for a better look, inhaling the clean, soapy smell of him. “Pardon me, but are those… bunnies? That’s very quirky indeed.”
He clapped a hand to his throat, hiding his tie, and his face went even redder. “Er. Yes. Well. In fact, they’re, ah, Playboy bunnies. You know, as in… Hugh?” He made it sound like he was name-dropping a close personal friend… who nobody had notified him died years ago. “They’re on my socks also. Always match your socks to your tie, my grandfather used to say.”
We both simultaneously looked down at his feet, where red-and-green Christmas socks protruded from his oxfords.
“I mean…” he stammered. “I mean, match your underwear to your bow tie.”
“Your grandfather taught you to match your underwear to your bow tie,” I repeated blandly. “How avant-garde. Was he a dancer, perhaps?”
Not-Sterling looked vaguely panicked… then captivatingly confused. But when any sane man would have shut his mouth, this man kept babbling himself into a deeper pit. “Uh. Yes. I believe he did foxtrot from time to time. Before the war.”
“Fascinating,” I said, shocked to find I meant it, not about his dancing grandfather but about the man himself.
Who was this guy with his strange babble, and his lies, and his overwhelming air of innocence?
All I knew was that when he darted a glance around the small space like he was planning his escape, I was determined to keep him talking.
“Well, Sterling.” I stuck out a hand for him to shake. “I’m Bash. It’s lovely to meet you in person at last.”
Not-Sterling frowned. “Bash.”
“Your new personal assistant, of course. We’ve been communicating by email for weeks. Don’t you remem— Ah!” I wagged a playful finger at him. “I see what’s happening here. You’re teasing, aren’t you?”
My lying angel’s eyes went nearly as wide and panicked as when he’d sailed across the floor. “I… yes,” he agreed faintly. “Ha! You caught me… Bash. Erm. Lovely to meet you in person.”
He put his smaller hand in mine, and I gripped it tightly, my skin tingling at the warmth of him. Not-Sterling’s breath caught.
“I must say, I didn’t expect to meet you here tonight,” I went on without releasing his hand. “You tend to avoid social gatherings. And I thought you were hiking Mount Kinabalu this week.”