Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Well…except for the part where the hero asks the heroine over and over and over, “What do you want?”
Jake had grunted his signature, “For fuck’s sake,” and shook his head.
Later that evening, he spent some time in his office. And he didn’t seem the least bit bothered when I joined him. I sat across from his desk and read while he worked.
Cam showed up at some point and even then Jake didn’t dismiss me. He simply tucked a blanket around my naked legs—I’d worn nothing but his T-shirts since he first dressed me in one—kissed my hair and let me stay while they worked. Cam looked at us like we were crazy. But something in Jake’s gaze kept him from making one of his usual jabs.
By the time we went to bed last night, I was over the trauma. I felt like me—a very loved, very wanted, me. Falling asleep in Jake’s arms was better than fucking him. And I couldn’t imagine what it would be like when I went home and had to sleep alone. Or who might warm Jake’s bed when I wasn’t there to do it. The thought was so unsettling, I refused to dwell any longer. I was going to keep the faith—still am.
Jake loves me.
I mean, how can he not?
And with love comes happily ever after. Hearts and flowers and Pop Rocks and river dancing every day.
I come to another door and the big sign labeled 16 above it makes me groan. “Jake…” I whine, huffing and puffing dramatically as I lean my back against the door. “I’m tired.”
“Tough shit.”
“Carry me.”
“Hell no.” He steps around me and pushes through the door.
“Come on,” I beg, following behind him. “Consider it your daily workout.”
“I’ve already done my morning workout, Penelope. While you sat on the weight bench and watched me.”
True. He’d left me a note by the alarm clock that blared in my ear at six freaking thirty this morning, telling me he was in his gym. Curious, because until that moment, I didn’t even know he had a gym, I went looking for it.
It looked like a smaller version of the YMCA. Minus the scent of feet. With a view of Chicago. It even had three flat screen T.V.’s and a refrigerator. But it was the sight of Jake all hot and sweaty and fine as hell that forced me to sit to keep my knees from buckling.
“If I had known we were going to take the stairs, I might’ve forgone the six mile, morning run.”
“Did you really think I’d get back in that death trap?”
He doesn’t even blink. “Yes.”
“Well, that’s just…I don’t like using the word stupid, but that’s just stupid.”
“Insult me if you want, but do it while you walk or else we’re going to be late.”
“Ugh. Fine.” To distract myself from the million miles we have to go, I take a quick selfie, send it to Emily and imagine her reaction when she sees that I’m wearing Chanel—again. The oversized, cream colored sweater stops just above my knees. I’m also wearing some super thick, double knit brown leggings. And a pair of brown knee boots that are insulated. Oh, and they’re made by Louis Vuitton.
She’s going to be so jealous.
The idea gives me a boost of energy and I’m not even winded when we finally reach the lobby. Alfred is there to greet us with a smile and an apology for what happened with the elevator. I give him a hug because I’m a hugger. He returns it and I grin when I feel Jake’s eyes on us. Before he can say anything though, his phone rings.
Ross ushers us to the car and even winks at me before he shuts the door. Jake doesn’t notice. He’s too busy talking about numbers and percentages and boring shit. So I play Toy Blast while he works the entire ride to the airstrip where a plane waits for us.
I was expecting something that looked like a crop duster. This damn thing looks like a mini Air Force One. There are couches. Captain’s chairs that recline. A bedroom. Shower. Bathroom. Bar. A flight attendant who is too damn pretty to be smiling at Jake like that.
Layla, as her nametag reads, smooths her hands over her neatly pressed dress that’s entirely too short. I look at Jake to see if he’s checking out her legs. He’s looking at me—his phone still glued to his ear. An amused smirk on his lips.
When she notices him on the phone, she turns to me. “May I get you anything, Miss Sims?”
My eyes roll.
Jake sputters a laugh and quickly ends his call.
Layla looks confused.
“My name is Penelope.”
“My apologies, Miss Penelope.” She looks contrite. But I’m too annoyed to care.
“It’s just Penelope,” I snap.
“Of course, Penelope. Can I get you anything?”
“We’ll both have a vodka. Make hers a double.”