Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Or the second time.
Or the third.
Anyway. So here we were.
I heard Max walk through the door and exchange some words with Ransom and felt a deep sense of relief. I’d been feeling like a caged animal these last few days. Claustrophobia closed in on me.
I wondered if the meat in Ransom’s closet had already started decomposing. I hoped so. Maybe it would remind him of his rotten soul.
A few minutes after I heard one of my cars drive off—Ransom felt very comfortable using my things—the door to my room was unlocked.
“Decent?” he called and knocked.
“Sure.”
Max appeared in front of me. He tipped an imaginary hat down, all chivalry and sugar.
“Cinderella.”
“Prince Charming.” I stood taller, my tone several notches colder. Nice or not, Max was still a man and I needed to remember that. “You’re late, as always.”
“Want me to accompany you anywhere?” He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. Clearly, he was happy to see me, and it made me feel uneasy. I was not used to people genuinely liking me.
“Didn’t you hear?” I grimaced. “The tyrant forbade me to leave the house today.”
“That true?” He rubbed his upper lip. He was blushing. Again.
“Didn’t he say?” A lesser woman would exploit Max’s obvious disorientation next to her to her advantage.
“Must’ve forgotten. Man, I dropped the ball on that one.”
Rolling my eyes, I fell back into a heap of silky sheets. “I’m so over your boss.”
“He means well.” Max winced. “How ’bout a movie? I’m not supposed to be doing recreational stuff on duty, but…”
“Only if I get to choose.”
“You’re going to choose something super girly, huh?” He rubbed his chin.
“Hello. Hi. It’s me. Duh.”
But once we settled in the living room, we opted for the new James Bond installment. Max wanted to see the action and pretty women, and I wanted to see Daniel Craig existing, just in general. We shared a popcorn bowl and two cans of diet soda. I convinced myself to take a deep breath and enjoy the moment. Forget about Ransom. Which could have been easier, had Ransom not burst into the house an hour after the movie started, sweaty and shirtless.
The shirtless part was really tragic, because he looked so incomparably hot next to Daniel Craig. Long and lithe and muscular. The ridges of his six-pack were glistening with his sweat. He must’ve been running. I stared at him, open-mouthed. I didn’t even care that I was gawking. Surely, he was used to it.
“What’re you doing?” he demanded, parking his hands on his narrow waist. Even his fingernails were perfect. Square and clean and…focus, Hal. Focus.
“Staring at the worst human alive, willing him to burst into flames on the spot?” I batted my lashes angelically.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Ransom barked.
Oh.
Max stood up. His face looked like it was about to explode. “Sir.”
“Don’t sir me,” Ransom clipped. “You’re not supposed to shoot the shit with the ward.”
“I know,” Max hurried to say. “I know. I’m sorry, it’s just that she said she was not permitted to leave the house—”
“She isn’t,” Ransom cut in dryly. “You were briefed about this.”
“Yes,” Max said gravely. “Yes, I was. My apologies. I just think she’s still adapting to the new situation and wanted to keep her company. I figured if I could keep an eye on her while…”
“Also keeping an eye on a Bond girl?” Ransom finished the sentence for him. “I should demote you to the office stapler for this.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” I threw my hands in the air. “Stop being such a huge baby, Ransom. Half the time you don’t even look at me, too busy on your computer. Don’t lecture others about professionalism.”
The men whipped their heads to stare at me. Both looked shocked. Neither looked happy. I’d just dropped a truth bomb squarely on its target.
“Max,” Ransom said, his intense, darkened gaze set firmly on me. “Get out. I’ll talk to you this evening.”
“Yes, sir.”
Max scurried away, but not before saying goodbye to me. I liked that he stayed sweet and apologetic, even when Ransom was on his ass. I tried to stand a little taller, extending my spine as much as I could and tilting my chin up. I wasn’t going to cower in front of this bully.
He got in my face, scowling. His eyes were a peculiar shade of green today. Like an eternal forest. A sick thought entered my mind. How proud and cocky Mrs. Lockwood must be to have a son as gorgeous and accomplished as Ransom. I wondered how many girls he’d dated. How many he brought home. How many he took in the back of his beat-up truck I spontaneously decided that he’d owned as a teenager.
“Your phone’s ringing,” he said, making me break our stare-off to look down at the coffee table, where my phone was sitting.
“It’s Wes Morgan.” I cringed, remembering that awful night that led to Ransom becoming a part of my life for the next six months. “I promised him a photo-op if he gave me a ride home.”