Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
That’s when I look down and see his hand touching mine. Our fingers both grip the material of my damp shirt.
We both drop the cotton at the same time.
He takes a step back. A loud, angry huff escapes his mouth, and the next thing I know, he starts to rummage through the cabinet directly beside him.
The racket he’s making could wake the dead, and a part of me dies of embarrassment at the fuss he’s making right now.
What the hell is he looking for?
Finally, the sound stops. He lifts up a towel, and I take it in my hand. Our fingers touch, and as they do, his jaw becomes tight. The utter mortification from the way he’s reacting to me is unbearable.
Will the world please swallow me whole?
“Thank you.” Blotting away the coffee, I move toward the other side of the room, needing distance from him.
My heart is hammering way too fast for my liking.
Continuing to clean myself, I notice that he hasn’t left the room. “Is there”—I stop my movements and lower my hand—“anything you need?”
He’s quiet for a moment. His rigid posture tells me he doesn’t like my presence right now.
“No.”
“Oh—okay.” I blink a few times, confused. “Did you want a coffee?” I mutter.
“No. I don’t drink that garbage. I . . . I went to your office to let you know I’ve pulled together a meeting for the top of the hour. Get yourself together and be there on time.”
Before I can say anything in response, he stalks off.
Who pissed in his cornflakes today?
Grabbing the half-empty mug off the counter, I take the last gulp.
If I have to sit through a meeting with that grumpy ass bastard, I need all the help I can get.
I arrive at the meeting exactly fifteen minutes later with a giant stain on my chest. I tried to cover it with a light scarf I had in my computer bag, but it’s still obvious I am a mess.
Sitting at the head of the conference table, the ever-irritable Mr. Cavendish holds court as I try to disappear into my seat.
The way he looked at me before still plays on a loop in my mind.
His warm hands on my shirt. The caring look in his eyes. As much as I try not to think of our connection, it just keeps coming back, day after day.
You’re in a meeting, Raven. Pay attention.
I need to get a grip. Narrowing my eyes, I try to keep focused.
What are we even talking about?
A fundraiser, maybe?
Oh great, he’s discussing raising money for a worthy cause, and I have no idea what he’s talking about. This is bad. If he asks me a question, it will be obvious I’m not listening at all.
Please don’t call on me.
As if he can hear the inner turmoil in my mind, he looks directly at me. His blue eyes are sharp and discerning.
“You can handle that, correct, Raven?”
“Yes, Mr. Cavendish,” I answer, having no clue what I’m saying yes to. His jaw tightens at my answer. He knows I have no clue.
“Good. Because this is very important to Cavendish Group. Very important to me.”
His tone is sharp, and I know if I screw this up, my future here will be short.
Is that a bad thing?
I’ve only been working here for over a week, and I’m second-guessing if I want to work for this man.
Maybe I can be transferred to a different department. One where I don’t have to work for Cavendish directly.
Lost in my thoughts again, I barely notice that the meeting is wrapping up until Charles stands.
Shelby moves quickly and is beside me before I can take a step. She places her hand on my shoulder, telling me with no words to hold back a moment.
Once everyone leaves the room, I turn to face her. “Everything okay?.”
“I couldn’t help noticing you were spaced out before. Are you okay?” Her eyes dart down to the stain on my chest.
“Yep, just a run-in with an angry coffee machine.”
“Okay, good. I was worried about you for a minute. I’d be frazzled, too, if I had to go to a meeting about a gala when it’s only my second week.” She points to the mess.
“It was not ideal timing, that’s for sure.”
“Listen, about Charles, I know he’s not easy . . .” That’s the understatement of the year. “But he means well. The money he raises for cancer—”
“That’s what we are raising money for?” I ask foolishly as memories of what my father went through seep into my mind.
“Yes, and here at Cavendish, we take philanthropy very seriously. If you need help with making the calls to the vendors for the event, I can help.”
Making calls to vendors. That’s what I signed up for. Good to know.
“I’m sure I’ll be okay. I’ll be provided with a list and details?”