Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
“I’d also like to welcome Eric Webb to the team,” Jack says, motioning my way.
I flinch in my chair—must pay attention and stop thinking about licking my fake boss, who is every bit as off-limits as if he were my real boss, if not more so—and lift a hand, wiggling my fingers. “Thanks. Excited to be here.”
“Excited to have you.” Jack’s frown belies the words of welcome. He’s clearly not thrilled about his role in my sting operation, but I do my best to ignore his grumpiness and hope my coworkers will do the same.
I cross my legs and snatch a pen from the middle of the table, ready to take notes and contribute to the best of my ability. But focusing isn’t easy when Jack keeps shooting judgmental, disapproving, and even one vaguely nauseated look in my direction, making me wonder if other people can smell my icky glue stink. I thought I was the only one suffering, because it’s literally right under my nose, but maybe I was wrong.
Thankfully, Jack guides the meeting with a steady hand, and by the time three o’clock rolls around, he’s sending everyone back to work with a “good job team, keep it up.”
Snatching my notepad from the table—my loopy, flourish-filled cursive might be a lady-tell, now that I think about it—I leap to my feet and start for the door, only to hear Jack’s deep voice call my fake name.
“Webb, meet me in my office in five.”
I turn to face him, mortified by the pity that flashes across the faces of the two men easing around me to get to the door.
Why is he calling me out on my first day? Drawing attention to me when the best thing for my article is to draw as little focus as possible?
I’m about to ask him these exact questions—under my breath, of course—when he pauses in front of me and says in a husky whisper, “Your mustache is slipping. Again.”
My fingers fly to my lip. I adjust it as best I can and mumble, “I’ll put some more glue on in the bathroom.”
“Do that, and then come to my office. Immediately. Do not pass go, do not flounce to the break room for coffee, do not—”
“Flounce?” I prop my hands on my hips with a huff. “I have never flounced a—”
“And hands off your hips,” he murmurs. “I can see everything you’re trying to hide, Eleanor.”
My lips part and my hands drop to my sides as a wave of completely inappropriate heat washes through me.
Damn it, why does his voice have to be so motorcycle-idling-by-the-ocean sexy? It makes everything he says sound vaguely suggestive, and apparently vaguely is all it takes to make my skin tingle and my body ache.
“Everything’s fine,” I whisper. “No one suspects a thing.”
His gaze drops to my mouth and lingers there long enough to make breathing difficult. “You now have two minutes,” he finally says, breezing past me with a disinterested expression.
I spin, intending to tell him I don’t appreciate the alpha-hole behavior, but several coworkers are still hovering near the exit. I swallow the retort and head for the bathroom, getting so close to the ladies’ room that my hand is reaching for the door handle before I remember what kind of parts I’m supposed to have and dart across the hall to the mercifully empty men’s room instead.
After locking myself in the only stall—thank God, sweet stall—I pull my compact and glue from my suit pocket and make the appropriate fixes to my stinktastic ’stache before tugging out my phone and shooting Spencer a text: Even the super stinky super glue is failing me, Spence. Got anything else I can try to keep me from losing my facial hair in my next cup of coffee?
Oh no, he texts back. If it stinks, it’s probably expired. I’ll pick up some fresh on my way out of the shop after the show tonight. How’s your debut going?! I’ve been on pins and needles all day!
Stifling a groan, I reply, Not awful, but not great. I’m about to get a dressing down from the boss man.
Don’t let him grind you down, honey, Spence texts. I respect your commitment to your craft. Stay the course, and the boss man will, too.
I type out a quick thanks, but Spencer’s sweet words aren’t as encouraging as they would usually be.
What if I don’t have what it takes to pull this off? What if my acting skills and my journalistic skills are both subpar and this entire endeavor is destined to fail?
And almost as worrisome—what if this weird awareness of Jack as a delicious creature worthy of hours of devoted licking gets worse?
I’ve always been anxious around Jack and aware of him in a way I’m not with most men, but I’ve never wanted to straddle him in his desk chair and explore his stupidly sexy mouth with my tongue before. I mean, maybe I did…a little, but I could always ignore the forbidden voice of temptation.