Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I absolutely hate that my pulse quickens at seeing him and I mentally chastise myself. It’s not fair that he’s even more gorgeous at thirty-three than he was eleven years ago. There’s something about a man filling out a little in the face, plus he’s put on some brawn. Of course, he’s still got the Blackburn beauty with the raven hair and green eyes, absolutely magnetic, and it doesn’t hurt that he wears his hair long like he did way back when. It brushes the collar of his shirt, and I know how soft that hair feels, just as I know how that five o’clock shadow chafes in all the right ways.
“Get a grip, Holland,” I mutter to myself and stride angrily across the store. I twist the latch and throw open the door. “What do you want?”
“I want to help,” he says.
“I told you I don’t need—”
Trey pushes past me into the store, immediately walking the perimeter of the outer lobby. He points to the east wall. “You’ve got water damage over here, and that wood rot by the windows will need fixing.” He then kicks at a warped floorboard. “All of this has to come up. You can see whatever was leaking ran the whole length of the store.”
“I said I don’t need your help,” I repeat, frustration mounting.
“Tough shit,” he replies, meeting my gaze with determination. “You’re going to take it. It’s the fastest way to get it done so you can run back to Zurich, right? Plus, I talked to Petey, who is quite busy at a job over in Lexington, and told him I’d handle it.”
I clench my fists in anger, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “Interfere much?”
“Just a little,” he says, holding his index finger and thumb an inch apart.
“Fine,” I growl, throwing my arms up in frustration. “Knock yourself out. I’ll pay you back for the supplies.”
Ignoring his smug grin, I turn and march back to the office, trying to focus on the records again. But it’s impossible with Trey moving around and making noise. I try not to look into the lobby and even manage to devote a solid ten minutes to organizing paper files.
But then he’s standing in the doorway, filling up the office with his presence, even though he’s only leaning against the jamb. “I’ve got that list of supplies.” He looks down at his phone to where he’s apparently typed a list before shoving it in his back pocket. “I’ll price some flooring for you. If they have it in stock, I can start on it this afternoon.”
I pin my gaze at the stack of invoices before me, not willing to give him too much attention because I know he’ll turn it into more. I’m aloof but polite. “That would be fine. Thank you.”
I wait for him to leave but he doesn’t. I study the paperwork, trying my best to ignore him, determined to wait him out.
“What exactly do you do in Zurich?” he asks, breaking the silence.
I sigh, pushing my hair back from my face. “I’m a senior business consultant at Global Strategies Ltd.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It means I help them optimize their operations, expand into new markets, that sort of thing.”
I return to my work, but he’s not finished. “Is that what you went to school for?”
I nod. “International business administration.”
“And you like it?”
“I like it,” I admit. “Now, I really have to—”
“But you don’t love it,” he says.
My head whips his way, my eyes narrowed. “Who says I don’t?”
“I do.” His eyes roam over my face, searching for something to prove himself wrong.
“You don’t know anything about me,” I snap.
Trey crosses his arms over his chest and gives me a lopsided grin. “Oh, I know things about you, Holland. But in this instance, if you loved it, you would have said so when I asked. Your face would have lit up. You would have told me more about it.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I sputter indignantly, mainly chafed that he would reference our past. “Zurich is beautiful. The city is clean, efficient, and I have a great group of friends there. It feels like home.”
“Didn’t ask about Zurich, although I have heard it’s beautiful. I asked about your career. Are you married?” he asks bluntly.
In hindsight, I’m sure the proper response would be something to the effect of, “It’s none of your damn business,” but instead I shake my head, discombobulated by his poking and find myself admitting, “No. I work a lot and it doesn’t leave time for dating.” And because if I’m going to hate myself for engaging, I might as well really turn on the loathing. “Are you married?”
“Nope. Do you still ride?” His expression softens with genuine interest.
“Yes,” I murmur, and for whatever reason, I don’t mind sharing that. “Not as often as I’d like but there are some beautiful trails outside of Zurich, and I’ve found a stable that reminds me a bit of Blackburn Farms.”