Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“I said that?”
“Yeah, and I agree with it.”
He sighs. “I don’t know what to say, Tommy. This is a lot to take in, and she’s waiting there.”
I stand. “Go tell her…”
“Hmm?”
I bite down, trying to think, unable to think of anything I could say that would make sense of this.
“Don’t worry about it,” I grunt, heading for the lift.
CHAPTER FIVE
Amelia
I don’t know what else to do, so I brush myself down, wipe my mouth, and try to act like nothing happened. Try because I’ve felt nothing like this before.
I’m still buzzing from the heat of the kiss, my body screaming at me to find him, kiss him again, and go further this time, ignoring the complications and the fact I’ve almost certainly got less experience than him.
My hips ache from where he grabbed them. There was so much intensity in his touch, as though he’d never felt anything that triggered so much captivation in him. I don’t understand what he said about being unable to stay away and then the sudden kiss.
The door opens, jolting me to my feet. I expect it to be Thomas again, and I’m excited about the idea, thrilled that he’s eager for round two. I shouldn’t be thrilled, considering how we left things, the mystery he dropped into my thoughts, but I am. Then the thrill plummets when I see George Langdale, a lean man with blond hair.
“Amelia, it’s so nice to meet you in person,” he says, offering me his hand.
I’m painfully aware of how sweaty I am as we shake. The excitement still clings to me, my body primed for more than a business meeting.
“And you, Mr. Langdale,” I reply.
“Please, call me George.”
“Okay, George. Great.”
He gestures at my chair, walks around the desk, and sits in his.
Did you see Thomas on your way out?
I almost say this but stop myself at the last second. I can’t start my new internship by getting involved in… whatever this is. A romance with somebody who made me think dream man the second I saw him or a weird billionaire’s game.
Does Mr. Langdale—George—know?
“I like to welcome all my interns to the company myself,” he says. “I think it gives a personal touch. That’s what this company is all about, Amy… Amelia.”
“It’s okay,” I say when he winces.
He nods, eyes dark, as if thinking of something else. I’m not sure how a slipup with my name could make him think of anything that would bring that expression to his face.
“You’ll be working under a seasoned pro while you’re here,” he continues. “I know from your CV you’ve been working on art since you were quite young, and you’ve been proactive in getting some graphic-design experience through your secondary school… sorry, high school.”
He grins, but there’s a forced quality to it.
“How are you finding England so far?”
“Well, it was raining when I got here.”
“That’s British weather for you.”
“I liked it. It felt like being in a British movie… film.”
He smiles, and again, it’s like he’s making himself do it. I warn myself not to read too much into this. He could easily be thinking about something related to the business that has nothing to do with me.
“Do you have all your information?” he asks.
“Yeah, it was in the welcome email. I’m on floor five.”
“Excellent.” He stands, and I do the same. “Then I’ll wish you good luck, though I don’t think you’ll need it.”
“Thank you.”
I leave the office, wondering if I have lost my mind. It’s nine thirty a.m., which means it’s four thirty on the East Coast. I can’t call my friend Emma. I’m alone, left to wonder if I just imagined that kiss, but I can still feel it, taste it, and want more.
I should be smiling as I ride the subway—dammit, the tube—back toward my new room. The workday went well after the whirlwind meeting in the morning, the kiss…
My supervisor was friendly and even gushed over one of my ideas during a brainstorming session. It was just a small drawing of a candy with sunglasses on, but she loved it. They’re even thinking of using it, yet I can’t let myself fully appreciate it. My thoughts keep returning to what happened, to the kiss, closeness, and hunger he ignited in me, this stranger I might’ve hallucinated.
“But you’re not crazy,” Emma says when I call her, raising her voice over the sound of something in the background.
“Sorry, are you busy?” I ask.
“Not too busy to listen to this juiciness,” she replies. “I’ll say it again. You’re not nuts. Do you really think you imagined a man on two separate occasions? That is freaky, though. He was hanging around outside your house? What a creep.”
“Hey,” I snap. “He’s not a creep.”
I can feel the person next to me watching, probably curious about this conversation, but I keep my head lowered, trying to talk quietly.