Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“Yes,” he said, nodding, decision made. “Yeah. I think this will work out,” he said. “When can you start?”
“Whenever you need me to,” I said.
Again, he looked around his big, empty, undecorated space. “As soon as you can get things in your life in order.”
Ha.
That was a tall order.
I was pretty sure there was no getting my life back in order. But getting this job was the first step in at least trying to do so.
“Tomorrow then?” I asked.
“Tomorrow,” he agreed, reaching his hand out toward me.
I stuck out mine, nails chewed mercilessly, my palm still sticky from my spilled coffee, and placed it in his.
The spark I felt at the contact, I went ahead and told myself that had everything to do with excitement, with happiness at a deal well made. And nothing at all to do with the overall hotness of this man who was even more gorgeous up close.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Avery,” he said as he led me to the door after.
“Yes, you will,” I agreed, giving him a smile. “I’ll try to not be such a wreck,” I added, moving outside.
“Hey, Avery?” he called, making me turn back.
“Yeah?”
“Can I have my mug back?” he asked, eyes bright, lips twitching.
“Crap,” I said, letting out a whimpering sound as I handed it back to him. “I swear… I am going to put myself all together tomorrow.”
CHAPTER THREE
Emilio
She didn’t.
Have herself all together, that is.
I knew this when I heard a loud as fuck bang early in the morning, making me reach for my gun and phone as I made my way downstairs with nothing but the slacks I’d whipped up my legs after getting out of the shower.
Only to find that the noise was Avery herself, her entire body slamming against the front door.
“Fuck fuck fuck, goddamnit, motherfuck—“ she was hissing to herself as I pulled open the door, making her head whip up, eyes huge. Her shoulders slumped immediately. “Great,” she said, hanging her head with a sigh.
“You alright?” I asked, tucking my gun away, a little surprised that she hadn’t startled at the sight of it.
“I was trying to get to the door to be a civilized human being and ring the bell, but I tripped over a box, and then my foot got caught in my purse handle, and it became a whole thing,” she said, rubbing at the arm that she’d slammed into the door. “At least my coffee was safe this time,” she added, waving toward the travel mug sitting on the top of the step. “Crap. I interrupted your shower?” she asked.
Her gaze moved over me then, just a quick perusal before she caught herself, and her head whipped back up to my face.
“It’s fine. I was getting dressed. Give me a second, and I’ll help you with all this.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how this works,” she said, shaking her head at me. “I’m the one supposed to be doing the manual labor here.”
“You’re not on the clock yet,” I said, moving back inside and leaving the door open for her.
I rushed through getting on a shirt and shoes, barely remembering to brush my teeth in my haste.
When I got downstairs, she’d managed to get her boxes and suitcases into the foyer, and was eyeing the staircase dubiously.
“It’s steep,” I agreed. “But you get used to it.”
“I’m just thinking of all the potential to bust my ass on there,” she admitted, then winced at herself. “I promise, I will work on the word vomit thing,” she said, reaching down to grab a box.
“Like I said, I don’t mind,” I assured her. I mean, when you worked in my Family, you got used to a fuckuva lot of cursing.
With that, I led her upstairs, walking behind her to make sure she didn’t, in fact, bust her ass.
And if my gaze went to said ass for a second longer than was probably appropriate, I just went ahead and chalked that up to an uncharacteristic dry spell. And the fact that she had a great ass.
“Which way am I going?” she asked when she reached the top landing.
“Last door on the right,” I told her.
It was the nicer of the spare bedrooms, a generous space with windows that overlooked the small back garden.
I mean, the garden was a fucking disaster—all cracked pavement, weeds, and dead plants in big cement pots. But it was nicer than looking down at the street.
Sure, there were more bedrooms on the third floor, and maybe she would have preferred to be up there, all alone, but for some reason, I wanted to keep her close.
“This has a Jack-and-Jill bathroom to the other bedroom,” I explained. “But that room is obviously empty. What’s wrong?” I asked as she turned in a circle, then gave me another wide-eyed look.
“Ah… was I supposed to, uhm, bring my own bed?” she asked. “I mean, I have one. But, you know, it would be kind of impossible to get the thing on the subway and then down the street.”