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)
Not just once in a while, but every second she’s posing as a card-carrying, dick-swinging member of S&H Investments.
“Class begins at ten a.m. at your place,” I continue, enjoying having the upper hand. “I expect you to be prepared with your dude talk, your dude walk, and a boundless appetite for knowledge of the Y-chromosomal nature. Intimate knowledge.”
Ellie’s looking at me like I’m nuts, but she hasn’t said no. And while there’s a small voice inside me insisting that this Dude 101 bullshit is just an excuse to spend time with her outside of work, the fact remains that I can’t let her go off half-cocked—rather, no-cocked—while I sit back and watch this blow up in our faces. There’s too much at stake to leave it up to her good intentions and a questionable tube of mustache glue.
So while she’s sifting through my company’s dirty laundry, I’ll be doing everything in my power to keep the swish out of her step, the sparkle out of her eyes, and that highly unmanly, fantasy-inducing pout off her pretty face. With any luck, we’ll fix whatever’s going on at S&H, she’ll get a killer story, and I’ll nip this ridiculous crush in the bud before I do something we’ll both regret.
“Oh, and Miss Seyfried?” I open the door, gesturing for her to exit in front of me, flashing her a wolfish grin as she brushes past. “Insubordination will not be tolerated.”
CHAPTER 6
Ellie
Day 4 Saturday 8/4
By nine fifty the next morning, I have my Eric duds laid out on the sofa for inspection, tea and coffee on the kitchen table in case Dude 101 requires additional caffeine, and I’m slipping out of my apartment to fetch my new, extra-sticky mustache glue from Spence.
Dude lessons. Seriously.
I do not need dude lessons.
What does Jack think I’ve been doing for the past twenty-eight years? I grew up in a house full of men, I wore my brother’s hand-me-downs until I was fourteen, and until my bad haircut grew out and my boobs grew in (sometime around tenth or eleventh grade), I was mistaken for a boy at least once a week.
I practically am a man. At least on the inside.
I certainly feel more comfortable with men than women.
Then again, karaoke with a few of the ladies from the office last night was a blast. I didn’t score any information for my article—it was too loud in the back of the Korean restaurant—but it was so much fun. No one pressured “Eric” to sing, no one judged the people who did let out their inner diva—even when Barb from accounting massacred My Heart Will Go On. Twice. And I was home by a respectable ten-thirty.
I would be totally rested, in fact, if I hadn’t tossed and turned until one in the morning, stressing about being alone with Jack in my tiny apartment.
Sexy, sanity-testing, lick-able, off-limits Jack.
Why my twisted libido has decided now is a good time to develop an even more serious crush on Jack than the one I had in college, I have no idea. Probably because it’s a traitor, like my upper lip, which seems determined to de-sticky-fy every brand of mustache glue known to man.
“You should never have agreed to this,” I grumble, though I know I had no choice. Jack made it clear when he dismissed me yesterday that “no” was not an option.
I wonder if he’s that much of a control freak in the bedroom…
Ugh. Now is not the time for fantasizing about the sexual proclivities of my brother’s best friend. I need to get my glue, get home, and get my game face on.
I’m knocking softly on Spence’s door—hoping he and Sonia aren’t sleeping in—when the elevator pings open behind me, and Jack steps out.
I’m not even facing his direction, but I know it’s Jack from the eucalyptus, spice, and sexy-as-sin man scent drifting down the hall.
Damn it, he’s early!
I curse beneath my breath as Sonia opens the door, her dark, corkscrew curls forming a sleep-mussed halo around her face.
“My, my…a quarter for my swear jar so early in the morning?” Sonia’s smile lights up her cherub’s face, the one that belies the mischief-maker within. “Not like you, Ellie Bellie, but thank you for starting my morning off right.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll drop it off later.” I glance over my shoulder to see Jack prowling our way, looking ridiculously stylish in gray slacks and a white button-down. I hold up a finger—indicating I’ll be right with him—and turn back to Sonia. “I need to grab that glue your dad scored for me.”
“Just a sec.” Sonia takes a breath, clearly preparing to shout for her father instead of going to get him, in the way of nine-year-olds everywhere, when Spencer appears behind her.
“Heard you knock.” He holds up the glue with one hand as he wraps an arm around Sonia’s shoulders with the other. The contrast between Spencer’s vampire-pallor—a hazard of working in dark theaters—and Sonia’s golden-brown skin is even more startling today than usual.