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 squirm and look out of the window to evade his glare.
“Do you want preferential treatment—is that what you’re saying?”
“No, of course not,” I snap.
“Then look at it from my angle, do you want to be treated the same at work or don’t you?”
I clench my jaw . . . fucker has got me.
“I can separate the two,” he continues. “The Kathryn I work with and the Kate that I want.”
He puts his finger under my chin and brings my face up to meet his; his eyes drop to my lips. “Now let’s talk about Kate,” he murmurs. “I like her.”
His eyes are so blue . . . and I feel myself lean toward him.
Just one kiss . . .
I snap out of my trance. “Let’s not.” I turn and march from the office. I hit the elevator button with such force I’m surprised I don’t break it. I storm into the elevator and take it to the ground floor. I need to go for a walk in the fresh air to try and clear my head.
Everything is just so confusing at the moment. My life is a head-fuck . . . and not in the good way.
Music is piping through the gym and the sound of laughter can be heard throughout the space. Trays of champagne and beer are being walked around by waiters and there are balloons and Christmas decorations.
I’m at the work Christmas party and this isn’t how it was supposed to be. Miles Media was to be going away for a mini break overnight just outside of London, but the country club we were having it at burned down last month.
I stand at the back of the crowd with my team and sip my champagne as I people-watch.
Christmas parties always bring out the worst in people; you see your colleagues in a completely different way. Last year, Little Miss Innocent Prim and Proper from level two spent the night in one of the married managers’ rooms. She was the talk of the office for weeks. Marcus and Neil, who are both married, were caught kissing each other in the photo booth, and Mandy from level nine took her top off and danced in her bra because she was hot. I smile as I remember it—it really was a funny night.
My mind comes back to the present and to Elliot’s indecent proposal.
As much as I’m attracted to him, and I am, I can’t deny it—and after today, I don’t even know why—I don’t want to be the workplace fool.
He’s told me straight up: no strings, no relationship or feelings, and no other people.
So, why would I even consider doing it?
I mean, isn’t the point of seeing someone about having fun, going to places, and getting to know each other? If I’m not going to be seeing anyone else, don’t I want to be with someone who’s proud to be with me?
I really wish I’d never messaged Edgar Moffatt now. It’s given me an inside insight into Elliot Miles that I shouldn’t have seen and I feel closer to him than I actually am . . . and I shouldn’t.
I know he’s a cold bastard and that he would never be satisfied with just me . . . I could never be that incredible woman he’s searching for, no matter how hard I tried.
Actually, let me rephrase that: I wish I had met Edgar instead of Elliot. He does have everything I’m looking for.
Elliot Miles and he couldn’t be more different, which is ridiculous because I know that they are the same person.
But then I remember that he’s looking for extraordinary and he still believes in fairy tales and I know there’s more to him than meets the eye.
Ugh . . . I’m going around and around in circles with this.
One minute I’m excited, because this is new and interesting and hot and we could have amazing unbridled sex.
The next moment, I imagine Bob and Joel finding out about me sleeping with him and what they and the rest of the office would think of me, and I’m mortified.
I know what I have to do, as tempting as it is to be carefree and alive.
I’m going to decline.
And already I hate the thought of it . . . so what’s that saying about the hold he has on me already?
Damn it . . . we’ve only made out.
I get a vision of us from the other night at the club and the way he kissed me.
The way he held my face in his hands, the way his eyes were closed.
He’s just so . . . gah.
I look across the room to see him arrive with Christopher, talking with the rest of the top-floor management staff.
He’s in his perfectly cut suit and has a Corona beer in his hand, and I can see his eyes scanning the place as he talks.