Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 50828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Honestly, if he wants Mariah—who had sex with his older brother in our bathroom during our last Fourth of July barbecue—he can have her.
I’m afraid of how suddenly my life is unraveling, but I’m leaving—and I’m not looking back. In fact, tonight I’ll celebrate being single. Maybe I’ll even take Jen’s approach and stop looking for a guy to put a ring on my finger. Instead, I’ll grab the first one who can get me off. But I absolutely refuse to sit in an impersonal hotel room and feel sorry for myself. Eric isn’t worth wasting another moment.
At the door, the fifty-something receptionist, dressed as Mrs. Claus, hands me a scrap of paper and half a pencil. “Vote for the department responsible for your favorite decorations. You’ll find snacks at every station. The bar is in the back, catered food in the break room. Tables and chairs are in Mr. Force’s office. Happy holidays!”
“Thanks,” I murmur, wandering through the double doors.
Even the dimmed lights can’t hide the fact that it looks as if Santa’s elves threw up everywhere. Besides all the tinsel hanging from the ceiling and the wrapping paper affixed to the walls, rows of cubicles have been decked out in holiday themes. A giant gingerbread house, illuminated by strings of Christmas lights, reaches the ceiling and encompasses the six desks belonging to the Overseas Markets group. It’s definitely the most creative cluster—way better than PR’s Winter Wonderland display on the other side of the floor. Classic Holiday, where the Large Cap dudes all sit, looks phoned in, proving they’re as stodgy and old-school as the sector they represent.
Turning, I search for the bar, fully intending to people-watch and drink. Instead, I feel someone’s stare fix on me. A man’s. He’s watching me. Taking me in. Sizing me up.
His attention isn’t subtle. Nor is the hot blast of his lust. It’s so thick it’s almost palpable.
Acutely aware of his gaze, I scan the party. But he’s invisible, everywhere and nowhere. Around me, people in cocktail dresses and suits drink expensive booze and eat five-star hors d’oeuvres. They chat and laugh like they don’t have a care in the world.
Suddenly, I feel like a predator has scented me and marked me as his prey. That should scare me.
It doesn’t.
I’ve never felt this alive. My heart thumps. My skin burns. My nipples peak. My pussy clenches.
Who is he? Where is he? How long before he makes his move?
Biting my lip nervously, I wend through the crowd, scanning faces and checking out guys I pass. A man wearing a schlumpy navy-blue suit and a gold band on his left hand talks to a very pregnant Mrs. Force, who is my boss’s boss. She spares me a smile as I walk by and head for another dude a few feet away with a faint tan line on his ring finger. Separated? Divorced? Either way, he’s clearly too busy sucking up to Mr. Force—the company’s hunky, old-money CEO—to be flirting with me. Deeper into the room, a thirty-something guy wearing an ugly Christmas suit flirts with the smiling bartender. Clearly, he’s gay, so he’s not the man staring at me. I still can’t tell who is, but I sense him prowling my way—and closing in.
“What would you like, gorgeous?” asks the mixologist with killer dimples.
Since he’s still making eye contact with ugly-Christmas-suit guy, he’s only complimenting me for a tip.
“White wine.”
The bartender winks and gives me a generous pour as I drop a few bucks in his overflowing cup.
Glass in hand, I search the room again, this time more slowly, probing. Is my watcher one of the IT nerds discussing code and video games? Highly unlikely. Or one of the bigwig hedge-fund managers, all with more money than ethics and a date way out of their league? I doubt it. Maybe one of the buttoned-up suits from Regulatory and Governance? As I pass, I make eye contact with each of them. But no.
None of these guys revs my heart or make me hyperaware that I’m a woman with needs Eric didn’t fulfill. This man… I haven’t seen him, but he makes me giddy. Excitement tightens my throat. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Time to draw him out and get face-to-face with him. After all, Jen swears that the best way to get over one man is to get under another.
My innate caution screams that strangers can be dangerous and stalkers are bad. My body doesn’t care. It’s humming with a throat-gripping sexual awareness I’ve never felt. Besides, he’s someone at my office Christmas party. How dangerous can he be?
Pretending to take in all the decorations, I circle the room. With each step and every breath, I feel his possessive stare.
A thrill shivers through me as I jot down my choices for the department decor prize, then drop the slip of paper in the box. I get a second glass of liquid courage and decide to lure my stranger closer…