Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“It’s just that I wanted to run this one scene idea past him. With Sam and Josie and the lawyer character too,” she says, and there’s a break in her voice. A slight tremble.
But once we near them, Isla straightens her spine, spins around cautiously. Her blue eyes widen, then she flashes a plastic smile my way. “Oh, hi Harlow. How are you?”
“Great,” I say.
“How’s everything?” she asks again, like she didn’t just make that same inquiry.
Jules clears her throat. “Hello, Isla. Is there anything I can help you with on Sweet Nothings? I have the latest revisions, as well as a report from standards and practices approving the legal issues in the storyline.”
Jules might as well pee to mark her territory.
Isla shakes her head, her red hair whipping fast. “No, I’ll be fine. I’ll just…”
But when she doesn’t finish, Jules must lose interest since she lasers in on Bridger. “Do you have all the research I sent you on the upcoming CTM meeting to finalize the TJ Hardman deal?”
“I do. Thank you. That was quite helpful,” he says, uber professional.
I fight off a smile. I don’t let on that I helped him win that deal. Jules would lose her mind.
“If there’s anything else you need, I can do it,” she says.
“Thank you,” he answers as the elevator arrives and the four of us step inside—the woman looking for my father, the woman wondering what I’m up to, the young intern studying them all, and the man everyone here wants something from.
Very different somethings.
Bridger stands at the back of the elevator. He doesn’t look at me. I’m not bothered. I don’t want him to reveal himself to them. I’m glad he’s not letting on he wants to slide his hand between my legs.
Jules tilts her head toward Bridger. “Where are you off to tonight?”
“I’m heading to an event,” he says with finality.
I wonder if Jules knows he dislikes events, but then she says, “How fun.”
Ha. She doesn’t know. But I do. I know things. I notice things.
“It’s work,” he says crisply, like it couldn’t possibly be fun.
For him, it won’t be.
But I can help him. I can be his wing-woman tonight.
As the elevator chugs down, Isla fiddles with her phone, her fingers flying like she’s sending texts at Mach speed. Her lips twitch in a grin. Probably a lover she’s texting.
“I’ll be working tonight too. On some research,” Jules puts in, and this hardly seems like the blasé executive assistant I’ve seen before. More like she’s sucking up to him. Something I’ve never seen her do before.
Once we reach the lobby, we fan out toward the big revolving doors where Jules breezily calls to me, “Have fun shopping, Harlow.”
Right. Naturally, she needed to point that out.
But I don’t break character. Waving at her, I flash her a vapid rich girl without a care in the world smile. “Can’t wait to get new shoes,” I say, then I take off first, leaving them in my dust, cutting across Columbus Circle and heading for the subway to go downtown to the art gallery.
When I’m a block away from the entrance, my phone buzzes. I grab it from my pocket. A text flashes across the screen.
Bridger: Get in the car. For your shopping trip.
My heart skids as I turn my head and catch sight of the sleek, black town car ten feet away from me, idling at the curb.
My heart rockets.
I close the distance. The door opens. I slide into the back, next to the man who crushed his lips to mine last night.
“Shopping, really?” he asks wryly.
I stretch out a leg, the one with the scar on the ankle. “Well, maybe I need new shoes.”
20
THINGS WE IGNORE
Bridger
I wasn’t about to let her ride the dirty subway.
Not when I have a plush town car to take her in.
Not when we’re heading to the same destination.
And not when she secured VIP tickets to an event for me.
So, yeah, I’m only being gentlemanly.
That’s all.
The partition’s up as the car pulls into traffic, heading west. It’s just Harlow and me in the backseat, the hum of the air-conditioning and the weight of last night surrounding us.
Her wavy chestnut hair shines in the fading day as she rolls up the window, sealing us into our private corner of Manhattan. With lush pink lips, she smiles at me. Her knowing eyes are an invitation.
And mine follow her lead, roaming to her ankle. “So, on this shopping trip, what kind of shoes should we get you?”
She taps her chin, in mock deep thought. “Let’s see…would you like me in slippers?”
Yes, slippers. You’d wear them in the morning, in my kitchen, when you’re all sleepy, sexy and morning soft, skin dewy and kissable from a night next to me in bed.
“Or perhaps rain boots,” I suggest as the antidote. They’re so not sexy.