Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163540 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 818(@200wpm)___ 654(@250wpm)___ 545(@300wpm)
“Are you serious?” I frown.
“Very.”
I exhale and turn toward the camera, giving it my best fuck you look. Don’t mess with me, asshole. I’ll smash your fucking camera over your head in a minute. If he doesn’t let me in, I’m going postal and wrecking something.
“Yes, sir.” She hangs up and comes back to me, unimpressed. “Junco will escort you up to Mr. Ferrara’s office now.”
“I can go by myself.”
“Nobody enters the building unescorted.” She glares at me. “You have an eight-minute appointment.”
I glare right back. “I’ll only need two.”
The security guard approaches us. “This way.” He leads me over to the elevator, and I get in behind him. He stays solemn and stares straight ahead. With every floor we go up, I feel a little crazier.
He leaves me in a prison.
He calls me a Tinder whore.
He didn’t want me.
Well, fuck him.
The elevator doors open, and I step out like I’m the Devil himself.
Mr. Ferrara messed with the wrong girl.
We arrive into a reception area, and it’s not at all what I expected. It’s made from black marble, modern, and very futuristic with dark timber finishes. The ceiling has a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the roof. There’s another guard on the floor, as well as two receptionists sitting at a long, black desk.
Why does he have so much security?
Mafiosi
Fuck.
“Just take a seat. Mr. Ferrara will be out shortly.” A receptionist gestures to a large, leather sofa.
“Is that his office?” I ask, pointing to the oversized, double timber doors.
“Yes. He won’t be a moment.”
Without another thought, I turn and storm through the doors, forcing them open.
The bang echoes through the space, and I hear the receptionists gasp from behind me.
Oh jeez, so dramatic. I should be on The Bold and the Beautiful or something.
“No, no, no.” Junco runs in behind me.
Rico looks up at me in surprise from behind a huge black desk. A sexy smirk crosses his lips as he sits back in his leather chair, holding a pen in his hand. “Miss Reynolds.”
Another man is sitting at his desk, and he watches me with beady eyes, his interest piqued.
My sanity snaps. “Don’t you Miss Reynolds me,” I growl.
Junco grabs my arm. “Fuori adesso.” Translation: outside now. “So sorry, Mr. Ferrara.”
Enrico’s smirk breaks into a grin, and he holds his hand up. “Esci.” Translation: get out. “Leave us.”
Junco looks between us.
“Now,” Rico commands.
Junco bows his head and leaves the room,
“Anche tu.” Translation: you too.
The other man stands and nods before he exits the office. The doors shut quietly behind him.
I stare at the smug as fuck bastard behind his big desk. He’s equally as sexy but I’m choosing to ignore that.
I hate him.
He sits back in his chair as his eyes hold mine.
Electricity crackles through the air between us.
My poor heart may not survive today’s activities.
“Olivia.”
I grit my teeth, I hate the way he says my name. Husky and deep. Ol – liv-i-ah.
It’s almost melodic.
Most definitely sexual.
The sound of his voice scatters my senses, and I stare at him as I search for an intelligent response.
He gestures to the chair in front of me. “Please, take a seat.”
“Go to Hell.” My hands clench into fists as they hang by my thighs. I can’t remember ever being this angry at someone.
His tongue slowly darts out and sweeps over his bottom lip. He raises a brow. “Don’t you dare come into my office and give me that tone.”
“I’ll do whatever I fucking like.”
He stands and walks around the desk toward me. Our eyes are locked, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
His power surrounds me. I feel myself brace as I wait for his angry onslaught.
He leans his behind onto his desk and crosses his ankles in front of him. He’s wearing a navy suit and a crisp white shirt. His shoes are the black leather pointy kind, and his chunky, obviously expensive watch sits heavily on his wrist.
He grips the desk beneath him. “Let me guess. You were in the area and thought you’d drop in?”
Damn him and his dark hair, chiseled jaw, and his big red lips. I begin to feel my pulse quicken. This is not in the plan, Olivia.
“Cut the shit, asshole,” I fire back, furious that my traitorous body has the audacity to still find him attractive.
Amusement crosses his face, and he breaks out into a low chuckle.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I would apologize, but I disagree.”
I narrow my eyes, contempt dripping from my every pore. “What are you apologizing for?”
“Laughing. What else?” He raises his brow.
I can’t believe this. He’s fucking infuriating. “How about you start with the caveman act during my date on Saturday night. I would like an apology for that.”
He clenches his jaw and stands, angered. “He wasn’t your date.”
“Yes. He was.”
“You met him on Tinder. Don’t insult my intelligence, Olivia. Tinder isn’t dating.”