Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
His tone is bored not angry, and I jerk my eyes back down to my computer screen, my fingers suddenly forgetting how to work.
It takes me over an hour to do the research on our next round of interviewees I’m sure it would take Blackbridge’s IT specialist seconds to do, but I’m in no position to ask that of Wren Nelson. The man is probably at home with his significant other, Whitney, the woman one of the guys mentioned earlier.
I’m in the zone, not liking what I’m finding on Sandra Halen, a woman we’re scheduled to meet with later in the week. She’s good at the work she does, but she just seems… mean. Movement at Gaige’s desk startles me, and I look up to find him with his desk phone’s receiver to his ear.
“Hello, Penelope. Gaige Ward. I’m well, and you? That’s great. Listen I need a table for two at Paragon. Yes. Tonight. Private. Yes. That’s right, as intimate as you can manage on such short notice. Eight? That’s perfect. Thanks, sweetheart.”
I snap my eyes back down as he hangs up.
Paragon.
That asshole.
It’s the restaurant in the hotel I’m staying at. What a bastard.
I manage to work for a couple more hours, but my heart is just no longer in it. I’m prepared for the first three appointments we have this week, and I know I’ll have a chance to get the rest of it done before those later meetings. I close my laptop, standing from the sofa.
“See you tomorrow,” I tell him with more cheer than I actually feel.
“Goodnight,” he says without even pulling his eyes from his own computer.
I leave, waving at the guys as I walk back through the breakroom.
Chapter 21
Gaige
The feisty woman that slapped me Friday afternoon was not the same woman that walked out of my office earlier today, and I spent the better part of an hour sitting at my desk wondering if I fucked things up too bad. But as I walk into Paragon, I realize I shouldn’t have bothered with worry.
She couldn’t resist being here, and I can tell from the flush in her cheeks in the reflective wall décor that she has already had more than one glass of white wine as she sits at a table, dining alone. She listened intently while I made reservations, stewing all the while thinking I was making them for me and another woman. As if I’d want to spend a single second with anyone but her. I’ll worry about that little fact at a later date.
Her flawless back is facing me, her spine open to the cool air of the restaurant in that very same devilish dress she was wearing on the night that we met. Then, I anticipated that she’d be trouble. Tonight, I know it for a fucking fact, and my cock makes himself known in anticipation, pulsing twice with eagerness that makes me wonder if the planned meal is even worth the bother.
She startles when I step up behind her, not wasting a single second before pressing my lips to her throat.
“You’re at the wrong table, Leighton.” I run my fingers down her arm, clasping her hand in mine. “This way.”
Confusion draws her brows in, but it doesn’t stop her from standing and letting me guide her across the room to the more private table I reserved.
“What’s going on?” she asks as I pull out her chair and help her into her seat.
Unable to resist, I press my lips to her skin once more before taking my own seat across from her.
“Do you really think the reservation I made earlier was for anyone but you?”
Her eyes narrow, but they also sparkle with relief. “You’re such an asshole.”
“I think we already established that. Have you already eaten?” I tease, referring to last week when she was more than halfway through her meal when I arrived. “Or will we be able to do that together this time?”
She grins as she picks up her menu.
“A drink, sir?” the waiter asks as he steps up to the table.
“Sparkling water, please.”
“More wine, ma’am?”
“Water for her as well,” I interrupt, gaining a look of disgust from her. “I want you sober.”
“I want wine.”
The waiter, ever professional in this establishment, takes a half-step back. His eyes are focused elsewhere, but I’m no fool. I know the man will be able to hear every word from my lips. The deal is, I don’t give a shit.
“You’re riding my cock sober tonight.”
“I may not be—” Her eyes dart to the waiter, but I pinch her chin delicately, telling her I own her attention. “I may not be riding your cock at all.”
I smile at her, my thumb tracing her bottom lip before dipping it in her mouth. She nips the tip before pulling back and clearing her throat.
“Diet soda, please.”