Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Excu-”
“This is also not about who can out peacock who – though again, if it were you’d be epically losing.”
“I-”
“And contrary to what circles around the cappuccino machine, this shit isn’t even about seniority, something you had in Highland but do not have here in Dalvegan.”
His mouth clamps closed.
“The simple truth is there’s no emotional factor that plays into matching client needs to capable agents. Everything is purely analytical. Every offer is based solely on risk analysis, completion statistics, and behavioral patterns, which are done through the highly advanced algorithm I assist in setting – and continuously resetting – the parameters for prior to being verified one last time by me as to minimize the number of mismatches and wasted resources during an assignment.” Indulging in a small sip of my sweet beverage easily lifts my mood. “Now, you are more than welcome to change branches again, Mr. Reynolds – off the top of my head I know Vegas has a few openings – however, let me remind you that it does not matter which branch you transfer to, we all use the same basic program to aid in case assignments. If you don’t like what you’re being assigned, perhaps it’s time to either hone different skillsets or perform better in the field considering your last two ops had subpar results.”
“What the fuck did you just say to me, keyboard princess?”
This time the shade of his words are not only startlingly bright but precisely stacked on top of another.
Luckily for me, the person I adore most in the world that just so happens to also house the most irresistible hues of blue when he speaks, winds his hand forcefully around the back of the employee’s neck and hums, “I know you’re not givin’ my favorite woman in the world hell, are you, Reynolds?”
Watching the crystal letters calmly circle around his solid frame causes me to thoughtlessly smirk.
Appreciate the fact I can always rely on their shades to soothe me.
Protect me.
“Wouldn’t uh…” he clears his throat, red swiftly replaced by bright pink, “wouldn’t fucking dream of it, Wahl.”
“Good because that dream,” my best friend’s fingers dig noticeably deeper into the man’s peachy flesh, “would quickly become a nightmare.” Slater leans his bronze face a little closer to Reynold’s ear and lowers his volume. “The type of nightmare that you wouldn’t wake up for weeks from.”
Sounds menacing.
And given the jaggedness of his letters along with the deeper blue, it looks it too.
His hold increases once more at the same time he warmly beams, “Copy that?”
Reynolds swings his gray gaze around to meet Slater’s blue. “Copy that.”
“Good!” The condescending shoulder pat is used to be the exit he undoubtedly needed to take. As soon as the door shuts with the latest pain in my ass on the other side, my best friend’s attention rolls back to me. “Now, you…” he points prior to rotating his finger to curl inward, “come here to me, Angel Cake.”
Even if I wanted to resist the one and only Slater Wahl, I couldn’t.
Between the no need for underwear smile and blue eyes that seem to sparkle like stars in the night sky, it’s impossible.
I mean physically, mentally, and emotionally impossible.
The man is basically walking serotonin with a six pack and southern drawl.
We should all simply be thankful that I’ve managed to remember more than just my own name for the duration of our friendship.
Our very long, very magical friendship.
I’ve never been this close to another person in my entire life.
Not even the ones that share DNA with me.
Hopping my neon red, fashionably oversized business suit cloaked frame out of my seat and into his hold is swiftly done. While both of my arms curl adoringly around his charcoal polo covered torso, he braces one hand on the small of my back and the other on the nape of my neck. The initial squeeze he executes is always the same. It’s protectively tight, almost as if by holding me in the palms of his hands every fear, every worry, every ounce of uneasiness is obliterated. As if having just the ability to touch me, pacifies a piece of him nothing else can. Nuzzling my nose against his chest prompts a secondary squeeze that’s attached to a sigh of relief so heavy it shakes the ground beneath our feet. Low grumbles of gratitude vibrate both our figures pushing me to press myself tighter into him. Squeeze my eyes shut and steal an extra inhale of his sweet, woodsy scent.
Mmm.
Love his smell even more than that of fresh baked treats coming out of the oven.
Slater cranes his neck forward to softly purr beside my ear, “You have any idea how much I missed you, Angel Cake?”
Bright specks of blue dance around my darkened vision, lighting the place up like its first thing Christmas morning. “Less than I missed you.”