Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“Most of my employees live in my building for free, have access to a gym and a swimming pool, and not to mention get great health and retirement benefits. I think I’m an okay boss.”
Darn, he has a point. “Whatever.”
His lips quirk. “It’s okay to say I’m right.”
“I still think a birthday card would be nice,” I reply, refusing to give in, and he laughs, the sound making me strangely happy.
“So, you and Samantha are going to your brother’s show. Any other plans this week?”
My stomach fills with worry. I don’t know how that watch works or if he is still digitally attached to me, but if he is, he might know about me meeting up with Troy. Even though I have nothing to feel guilty about, guilt still fills the pit of my stomach along with a hefty dose of irritation.
“Are you still digitally stalking me?” I blurt.
His brows pull together. “Pardon? Digitally stalking you?”
“Are you connected to all my personal stuff with your watch—you know, my e-mail and texts and stuff?” When he doesn’t answer right away but gets an almost panicked look in his eyes, I know he is. I also know he already knows about me meeting up with Troy and is fishing to see if I will tell him about it. “Are you going to answer me?”
“I’m not stalking you.” His voice is placating, which only serves to piss me off even more.
“Do you know I’m meeting Troy tomorrow?” I ask, and his jaw tics, giving me my answer. “You know.”
“I know,” he confirms.
“Do you understand how violated that makes me feel?”
“Dakota—”
“No, Braxton, you need to get this, really get this. Unless I tell you something, it’s none of your business.”
“You’re my business.”
“Bye, Braxton.” My thumb hovers over the red button on the screen.
“Do not hang up on me, Dakota,” he growls, sending a chill down my spine.
“Or what?” I see the wheels in his head spinning. He’s on the other side of the country, literally. He can’t just barge in, and even if he got on a plane, it would be hours before he was back here.
“Dakota, don’t play games with me.”
“Braxton, the only one playing games is you.” I hang up and drop my phone to my side, and when it rings a second later, I turn it off. He has another think coming if he believes he can just go through my e-mails and texts without me having a reaction. Who the hell does that?
“A crazy man,” I whisper, thinking I might be a little crazy myself, because even though I’m mad, I’m not as mad as I probably should be.
Chapter 10
Dakota
I SIT AT a small table in the back of the coffee shop with an iced coffee on the table in front of me, the condensation on the cup melting down onto the wooden surface, the drink forgotten since I sat down. All of my attention has been focused on the familiar-looking man across the room, the same man I saw the day I had brunch with Jamie, the same guy I thought I saw at the movies.
I don’t want to assume he’s somehow connected to Braxton, but my gut is screaming at me that he is. I narrow my eyes on him when he looks in my direction, and he frowns, making me question my own sanity.
“Dakota.”
I look up at Troy, and he hesitates, like he’s waiting for me to stand and greet him with a hug. There is no chance in hell I’m hugging him. I can barely even stand the sight of his still-handsome face. With a sigh, he takes a seat across from me, and I glance at the guy across the room to see his reaction to Troy’s arrival, only he doesn’t react at all. Okay, maybe I’m being paranoid.
“Do you know that guy?” Troy asks, gaining my attention.
“No.” I pick up my coffee and take a huge gulp. Maybe I’m just on edge, because since I hung up on Braxton last night, I’ve been waiting for him to just show up or do something to let me know he’s still around.
“Okay…” His brows pull together. “Well, you’ve been glaring at him since I came in,” he says, placing his own cup of coffee on the table while leaning back in his chair, getting comfortable like we’re here to meet for a coffee date.
“Where’s my stuff?” I check the floor at his feet for the box or a bag, but there is nothing in sight.
“I left it in my trunk.”
“You left it in your trunk,” I repeat, sounding as annoyed as I feel. “Why didn’t you bring it in here to me?”
“The box is falling apart. I didn’t think you’d appreciate me leaving a trail of your photos on the sidewalk,” he replies, taking a sip of coffee. “I’ll get it for you when we leave here.”