Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“But you’re the Goddess.” Karma sounds so dismayed I have to laugh a little.
“Fifteen years is a long time.” I study my boots, determined not to look at Trevor Bishop, even though I feel those dark eyes pressing on me. “I’m ready for something else.”
As much as I’ve enjoyed my run modeling, it’s not a game you stay on top of indefinitely. A wrinkle here. Fine lines there. The bar is perfection, and no one can clear it forever. I want to exit gracefully and on my terms, not be chased out by some idiots who only want to photograph nineteen-year-olds.
We’ve stopped several times, emptying along the way until it’s just the four of us now, headed toward the thirty-fifth floor, which houses Bennett’s most senior level executives. And me for now.
“Is the office to your liking?” Karma asks.
“Yes.” I give Karma a warm smile. “I appreciate your help. It’s lovely, and exactly what my team needs.”
“You have an office here?” Trevor asks, forcing me to at least give him a glance. Still mouth-watering, towering over us all, the breadth of his shoulders swelling in the perfectly tailored jacket. And what does he do to get those muscles in his thighs? No businessman should have all that body. His suit is like a silk cage barely containing a lion.
“Yes.” No more. No less.
“I didn’t think models needed offices.”
“You pay him to think?” I direct the question to his partner, Harold, who swallows a laugh, his eyes twinkling back at me from behind his glasses.
“He doesn’t pay me at all.” Trevor’s wide smile sketches dimples in the lean cheeks covered with a thin layer of cinnamon stubble.
Death by dimples. Just drive a stake through my vagina. It would be a quicker, less painful way to go.
“So what’s your office for?” Trevor is persistent. I’ll give him that.
“It’s a temporary office while my permanent spot is being renovated.” I wonder if he’ll notice that I didn’t actually answer his question.
“And what business do you conduct in this temporary office?”
I turn my head, giving him the full benefit of the face he’s been staring at in profile ever since I boarded this elevator.
“It’s a business I like to call mind your own business.” My voice is saccharine, artificially sweet and might over time kill you.
Trevor’s chocolate brown eyes narrow on me, but his smile remains even when Harold and Karma snicker. I know because my heart keeps tripping over itself every time he flashes those damn dimples at me.
Before he can poke his nose any further into my business, the elevator dings for the top floor. I divide a smile equally between the three of them, maybe giving Trevor a slightly smaller portion than Harold and Karma.
“Enjoy your day, gentlemen.” I step off the elevator and turn right, knowing they’re probably headed left toward Daddy’s or Walsh’s suite of offices. “Thanks again, Karma, for your help.”
Every confident, long-legged step puts much-needed distance between Trevor Bishop and me. For some reason, I glance back over my shoulder. I’m startled to find him standing at the other end of the hall, hands shoved into his pockets, jacket pushed back to show that taut waist widening up to the long, broad torso. He’s watching me walk away while Harold and Karma continue in the other direction. I don’t stop, but aim a discouraging frown at him, hoping he gets the message to leave me alone. Maybe he misreads the message, because he merely grins and salutes me before he turns to follow his partner and Walsh’s assistant.
He has a bad case of social blindness. I can’t get much ruder without jeopardizing his business with Bennett. What does he want? Why is he acting this way? He was one of Daddy’s fish. I was bait. I was just supposed to draw him out, convince him that Bennett was the best option. Let my breasts do the talking, except something went terribly wrong, and now I think I might like him.
I didn’t expect to see him again. I didn’t expect him to disturb me the way he does; to disrupt my equilibrium. And between the business venture I’m getting off the ground, a monster named Manchester reentering my life, and a past-due quarterback in my bed, my equilibrium has enough to manage without a lumberjack in a three-piece suit making my heart skip beats every time he’s within dry-humping distance.
I shove those weak-minded thoughts aside when I enter my tiny, luxurious space at Bennett Enterprises. It’s only mine for the next two weeks, but it’s chic and gorgeous, decorated in icy blues and misty grays, glass desktops and delicate furniture populating the two rooms I’ve been temporarily assigned. As soon as I cross the threshold, a slim hand with rings on every finger except the thumb proffers a cup of steaming coffee.