Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
The walk there is long and time-consuming, and I’m met with a handful of starstruck, gaping stares in every hallway, but I pay them no mind. It’s easy to forget that with tens of thousands of employees, many people will go their entire careers without seeing me. I’m sure to some, I’m a ghost. My presence is felt in every corner of these buildings, but if they’ve never seen me, how can they be certain I exist?
By the time I make it to the break room, I spot Sophie immediately. With her nose buried in her phone, she mindlessly dabs the corners of her pouty lips with a recycled brown napkin. A tight white sweater hugs her curves, the neckline swooping down just shy of her cleavage, and an oversized pearl necklace circles her delicate neckline.
Almost as if she senses my stare, her deep blue gaze flicks up, meeting mine from across the expansive space. Within seconds, a hush falls over the room. All eyes are on me.
“I’m going to need you all to evacuate this break room immediately,” I say to the spectators, though my attention is all hers.
Sophie begins to rise.
“Not you,” I say.
The room empties in warp speed. I close the door behind the last straggler before taking a seat across from her.
“I’d ask how you found me, but …” She lifts the badge attached to her sweater. When she puts it like that, I can’t help but feel like a creep.
I shove that thought away. It’s not who I am.
“You left me hanging Friday,” I say. “Had me worried for a second.”
Her pink mouth arches and her gaze falls to a poster on the wall behind me. “Yeah, it was a rough night. I fell asleep in the middle of our conversation.”
“Never considered myself the boring type, but I suppose I can’t argue with that evidence.”
I elicit a flicker of a smile from her, but it vanishes before I have a chance to appreciate its beauty.
“Listen … about those texts …” Sophie draws in a long, slow breath and sits straighter. “I’d had a little too much wine and I wasn’t myself. I said things I wouldn’t have normally said. Not just to you, but to anyone. I apologize if I came across—”
“—please don’t apologize,” I cut her off. “I thought you were … charming.”
Her eyes widen. “Charming? Really?”
“I’m still waiting on that poetry.” I wink.
Sophie laughs, tossing her head back. For a moment it feels as if I’ve known her a lifetime, though I can’t pinpoint why.
“I’m afraid you’ll be waiting forever then.” She lifts a curved shoulder, and her sweater falls just enough to expose a patch of creamy soft skin.
“Poetry is meant to be shared.”
“Not my poetry.” She rolls her eyes.
“You don’t think it’s good?”
“It’s personal.” She blinks, her tone matter of fact. “For my eyes only.”
She’s a locked box, this one. And I get the impression she’s swallowed the only key.
I make a mental note to have Broderick check into her dating history. I want to know her type. I want to see the face of every man who’s had the pleasure of taking this woman behind closed doors and peeling back her tightly-wound layers. I also want to know what they had that I don’t.
An unexpected flash of jealousy burns through me when I think of her with another man, giving him her unguarded affections.
“You said you had a rough night Friday,” I say. “Can’t imagine it was the Outlander.”
Sophie avoids my stare, peering off as if lost in thought.
“Yes,” is all she gives me.
“Want to talk about it?” I ask, before adding, “Anything I can do to help?”
I’m not normally one to lend an ear, but for her, I’ll make an exception.
Her snowy teeth rake across her bottom lip before she frowns and her silky blonde waves brush the tops of her shoulders as she shakes her head.
I conjure up an image of the two of us in red carpet photographs. In People magazine engagement spreads. On celebrity gossip websites. In New York Times articles. We’d look incredible together.
And we’d make the most beautiful babies—not that I’ve ever had to think about this sort of thing.
“You know, since you signed that NDA, everything discussed between us is strictly confidential,” I say. “You can tell me anything.”
“Trey …” Her lips part but she hesitates. “I realize I was cordial with you Friday night, but I think I might have given you the wrong impression.” She gathers a breath. “We’re not friends. I’m not going to tell you why I had a bad day. And I’m not going to change my mind about what you asked for just because you’re trying to forge some kind of connection. Also, I need to be honest with you—the fact that you randomly dug up my file and decided I’m the one for you, is—”