Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 135799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
I exhale heavily as I stare at my beloved painting. I’m going to look deeper into this, I have this need to know who she is.
I own twenty-seven of her paintings, have spent a fortune, and yet the hunger to meet her still eats at me.
Why . . . I don’t know.
What I do know is that I don’t want to be thinking about Kathryn Landon, I need a distraction.
I’m going to make some calls on Monday to try and find out more.
I have to, it isn’t even a choice anymore. I need to know the person who affects me so deeply . . . if only just to tell her so.
I open my phone and am reminded of the fake profile on that cheap and nasty dating app.
It’s misleading, I have to get it taken down. I go to search on the app and it won’t let me past the front page unless I join and make a profile.
I roll my eyes in disgust. Fuck’s sake . . . what is this shit?
I lean on my hand as I watch the red skirt twirl, the way her hips move, the long legs, the sexuality of the whole package . . . I’ve replayed this security footage more than I care to admit, maybe on the hour. I can’t stop watching it, again and again.
It’s a guilty pleasure, the ultimate kink in porn.
Although I would like to, I can’t deny it, Kathryn Landon turns me on.
A knock sounds at my door and I quickly minimize the screen. “Yes,” I call.
Christopher puts his head around the door. “I’m going downstairs, want to come for a walk?”
“Where to?”
“IT.”
My eyebrows rise. “IT?”
“Yeah, I have to check a few details with Kathryn on that report.”
I’m standing before I have time to answer.
“You’re coming?” he asks in surprise.
“Yeah, why not? I need to stretch my legs.”
We take the elevator and two minutes later we arrive on level ten, the IT floor. There are workstations throughout and at the back are six offices with glass walls as partitions, slimline black venetian blinds offering privacy to each office.
I follow Christopher down the corridor as people dive for their desks and pretend to work. I never come to this floor. Never needed to; not exactly sure why I’m here now.
Christopher stops to talk to someone and I continue on, get to the first glass door and read the sign:
Kathryn Landon
Hmm, even reading her name leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. “Knock, knock.”
“Come in.”
I open the door. “Hello.”
Kathryn looks up from her computer as if surprised. “Hello Mr. Miles, and to what do I owe this honor?”
I press my lips together so I don’t say something snarky; this woman brings out the smart-ass in me tenfold. “Just doing a tour, thought I’d pop in.”
She fakes a smile. “How lovely, the king has come to visit his faithful servants.”
I glare at her as I clench my jaw.
How can someone who when she dances is so happy and joyful, not to mention insanely hot . . . be filled with pure venom?
I walk in and close the door behind me, take a seat at her desk and link my hands in front of me.
She stares at me as she waits for me to speak . . . I don’t, we remain silent.
“Well?” She smiles.
I narrow my eyes as I stare at her; what is it with this fucking woman?
Nobody treats me the way she does, my mere existence pisses her off.
She smiles as if she’s happy, but what comes out of her mouth is always low-key aggressive. She’s the ultimate temper bait.
“Well what?” I reply.
“Are you going to talk to me on your visit?”
I dust my jacket off as I try to think of something to say. “How do you like working here?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Are you going to try and pay me off to resign again?”
I wince. I did do that . . . didn’t I?
“Of course not,” I snap. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
She exhales heavily and turns back to her computer. “Well, do you want to discuss anything?”
That little red dress you own.
“Not particularly.” I run my pointer finger back and forth over my lips as I stare at her.
“So . . .” She raises an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“What do you mean, what?”
“Why are you acting weird?” she asks.
“I’m not,” I scoff as I stand. “I came to visit you, but obviously you don’t want visitors.”
“Mr. Miles.”
“Elliot,” I correct her.
She frowns as she stares at me. “Okay, you asking me to call you that is weird in itself. I’ve been here for seven years and never once have you asked me to call you that or bothered to visit me.”
“I’ve been very busy,” I fire back.
“For seven years?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Precisely.” I move for the door. “And now I know why I’ve been so busy.”