Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
I feel like a complete shit. Of course her parents were devastated after losing Connor, but I never imagined they’d smother Mimi in the process. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend,” I murmur, drawn to take her hand again.
“It’s not your fault.”
I nod as I turn it over in mine, my gaze not lifting from her dainty fingers. “I should’ve done more.” Like a flash of sin, I see her hands tightening on my forearm, her eyes lust hazed, her breath on my face. I drop her hand on instinct.
Mimi straightens, possibly disappointed, but then she winks. “Well, keep your eyes peeled for that report, Mr. Whittington.”
“Just Whit,” I mutter, twisting my laptop back to where it was.
“Mimi and Whit. Whit and Mimi,” she says as she sashays her fabulous arse over to the closed door. I slide open my desk drawer, pull out a rubber band, and slip it over my wrist. “Oh, I forgot to tell you.” She swings around. “El said that Lavender likes this new vegan restaurant in Shoreditch.”
“Not vegan and not Shoreditch,” I mutter, dropping that hand to my lap and furtively palming my tortured dick. Down boy.
“No?”
“It might be her birthday, but not all of us enjoy eating jackfruit masquerading as barbecue.”
“What was that? That thing you just did?”
I look up at the sound of her confusion, then back again when I realize how ridiculous this is. “When I complained?”
“No. If your lips are moving, you’re complaining. I meant the thing you put on your wrist.”
“They don’t have rubber bands in Florida?” She pulls a dissatisfied face at my answer. “Maybe I’m starting a new fashion.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“If I needed a rubber band, where else would I keep it but on my wrist?”
“In your pocket. Or maybe the drawer you’ve just taken it out of.”
“Why, when clearly wrists were made for such things?”
“If you say so.” She gives a miniature shrug and pivots away.
Meanwhile, I wince at the sharp ping of the elastic on my wrist because her wrists are not made to be pinned to my bed. Thwap! I do it once more because I’m looking at her arse again. This time, the bright-blue rubber snaps.
Was it a sign?
Probably.
A sign that I’m going to need a lot more rubber bands.
11
MIMI
“Coward,” I mutter, slapping the sheaf of papers down next to the binding machine. “He gave you the perfect opportunity to lay your cards on the table, but instead, you’re in here trying to impress him with your admin skills.” Jerking open the drawer, I pull out a binding coil and a couple of random colored front and back pages. “Could’ve had him eating out of your hand… maybe even some other place,” I add, lining the body of the report between the two. “But why settle for hot sex with your hot boss when you can get a hearty pat on the back for not only finding the damn report in his email but printing him a hard copy and binding it, too.”
It's fair to say I’m disgusted with myself. It’s also fair to say I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to make sense of our exchange. I’m trying not to make my interest in him too obvious (because desperate is never attractive) while Whit pretends not to notice it. I know he’s not that oblivious—I’d studied his interactions with the opposite sex on many occasions. Granted, those were different times, but the man still has it. In spades.
To make matters worse, my coffee was cold when I got back to my desk. I was counting on it to tide my appetite over until I left the office for the day because it’s true, I had left my lunch of the Tube, which meant I felt compelled to give Joe, the homeless veteran who camps near the building, my last five dollars. I mean, pounds. This was problematic, to say the least, because I hadn’t at that point realized I’d left my bank card at home. It wasn’t a great start to the day, and I haven’t eaten since a slice of toast at breakfast. As Doreen would say, I was so hungry that my bum was eating my knickers.
Whit had left for a meeting off-site not long after our exchange, which I thought might leave me plenty of time to overthink. About ten minutes after he’d gone, a courier turned up with a pretty box wrapped in a blue ribbon instead of the usual paperwork. It had my name on it so, of course, I opened it. Inside was a gourmet packed lunch that outshone the ham and cheese roll I’d left on the Circle Line line. My very fancy-looking late lunch included an edamame salad, two tiny salmon and avocado bagels, a packet of gourmet nuts, a berry fruit salad, a strawberry smoothie, and a delicious lemon tart. All for me!