Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
Bolton Norris is ready to collect his prize. When she comes to him needing him he springs into action, claiming her for his own.
This book is not the others. Sure, it’s safe and over the top, but our girl Sassy needs the pain only Bolton can give her.
This is book 6 in ChaShiree M. & M.K. Moore’s Love Is In The Air series.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
SASSY
I’ve been working non-stop since I got this job, but it’s exhausting. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining about that fact. I love the fast-paced lifestyle being the managerial accountant for Norris Management Consultants affords me. I get to hobnob with celebrities and glamorous rich people, but that’s not even the best part. The best part is Bolton Norris. My boss. The star of all my dreams— both tame and erotic. He’s so hot. He’s Samoan and black; he looks just like what I think think the love child of The Rock and celebrity chef Darnell Ferguson would look like. I can’t help imagining what our children will look like. His skin is dark compared to my ridiculously pale Irish skin, and we will make truly gorgeous babies. God, I want that with him.
I remember the moment I met him, and my hand rested in his for far longer than was strictly necessary. The contrast turned me on so much that I could have come right there, which is probably saying something for a twenty-three-year-old virgin like me. I wasn’t trying to stay a virgin for any other reason than it just never felt right, but now that I’ve met him, no other man will do. So, I’ll stay in this state until he notices me, if ever. If not, I’ll die waiting for him. I know I have issues. Issues I don’t ever want to saddle him with.
All I do know is that the more time I spend with him, the more I fall hopelessly in love with him. I’m so crazy that I got a tattoo of a bolt and his name on my wrist. Since I’m not totally deranged, my smart watch covers it when I’m at work. I fiddle with my watch now, turning it so I can see his name. For the first time, it does little to calm me down.
Speaking of issues, I’m out of my element and my routine. I need to be in my space, and I need to stick to the routine I’ve painstakingly established. We work every day of the week, and that helps.
Wake Up at 6: 30
Shower.
Put makeup on.
Get dressed in work-appropriate attire.
Eat Breakfast.
Leave apartment.
Grab iced coffee for myself and Bolton’s hot Americano.
Hop on the El to get Downtown.
Work.
Lunch with Bolton.
More work.
Home no earlier than 8 PM
Wind down with either a book or a thirty-minute sitcom.
Bed by 11 PM.
Then I wake up and do it all over again. It works for me.
My actual work is the only thing that varies daily. It’s mostly the same, but something inevitably comes up to shake things up. Bolton makes this bearable for me. I rarely travel for work, thankfully. I only came to Chicago with Bolton in case an immediate payment was needed on behalf of the company’s client, basketball star Nick Pike, for the fake baby mama drama he had going on and to see one of my best friends, Rose. Thankfully, the fake baby drama was cleared up days ago, but we’re still here. He asked me to stay, stating Nick was vacating his contract with the basketball team and we might have to pay out. Besides, I could never refuse him. I don’t want to. I defer to him for everything. Does he even notice that?
At work, he tells me what to eat and what to wear, indirectly, of course. We work together every single day, and we eat lunch together. I always follow his lead when he orders. As for what to wear, he came up with the company dress code. I know that’s for everyone, but it helps me regardless. I listen when he speaks. He keeps me calm. Just the sound of his voice can snap me out of the hellscape my mind traps me in.
But now that I’m so far out of my element, I’m floundering. I’m anxious. I feel tense and nervous. I can’t seem to relax, nor can I eat. I’m on edge, and I need him to fix me. The sense of dread I feel in the pit of my stomach is consuming me. I pace my hotel room like a tiger at the zoo. Trapped with no hope for escape. I pray for a release of any kind, but nothing is forthcoming. I force myself to sit on the edge of the bed and drop my head between my knees. My heart is beating wildly. I’m in the middle of an epic panic attack, so I suck in harsh lungfuls of air, but I choke on them. Then the tears start. Why am I like this? Why can’t I just be normal? I’ve tried therapy, but that’s not for me. They don’t want to help me, they want to medicate me, and I can’t function like that.
There’s a car sitting on my chest. I groan as I stand back up and resume my pacing. I try counting, but that doesn’t work. I try another breathing exercise, and of course, nothing. I try the 5,4,3,2,1 method, and even that doesn’t work. I’m so fucking lost.