Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
I start to say something, but the anger is palpating, taking over the massive room which, by the way, has the most spectacular views one could ever dream of. Add in the gleaming wood, the plush leather couches that look like you could melt in them, big and massive, but it’s the man behind the desk who has me stunned into silence, afraid to make a noise let alone speak my piece. Dark eyes, dark hair with streaks of silver whispering throughout along at his temples, clean-shaven jaw, angular, and with the set of his mouth right now, it’s a dead giveaway as to what’s going on in his head. Skin that you would think was from the California sun until you’ve seen images splashed across magazines and news articles. That deep tan is definitely a part of his family heritage. The man wears a suit—it doesn’t wear him—luxurious in fabric and color, complimenting his dark complexion, shirt open at the throat, tie off. He’s still wearing his jacket over his deep blue buttoned shirt. Even annoyed like he is now, it still has me on the edge of my seat, wondering how he’d take out all the frustration, and that’s not something I should be thinking about. An image appears while we’re both locked in a stare-down, neither of us giving an inch, me contemplating what it’d be like to have him hovering above my body, thighs spread, feeling his thickness that I’m sure is between his legs. Yeah, I really have got to erase that image from my mind because that won’t ever happen, especially now that he believes I’m some high-end escort or hooker. This is not Pretty Woman; I am not sitting on a bench on the streets of Beverly Hills. That’s not who I am or who I’ll ever be, and if that means working at the doctor’s office for another five years to accomplish my dreams, well, I’ll grin and bear it.
“Not that it matters, but your brother has it all wrong, on every facet, from what I could hear, seeing as how you had no idea when or how to turn down the dial on your volume. Let’s just say for the hell of it, I’m not a virgin or the person you think I am.” I barely get those words out when Santiago stands up to his full height. He’s tall, taller than me even in these ridiculous heels, not to mention he’s a good ten to fifteen feet away from me, and I know if I get any closer, I’ll be looking up towards his dark and stormy face.
I hold my breath, waiting for a response. Santiago doesn’t give it to me, so I stay where I am, firmly in place, worried if I were to move even an inch, he’d attack. Not that I’ve done a damn thing wrong. It’s his presence. He exudes masculinity, a take-charge personality, and his tongue is sharp in the way you do not want to even test its wrath.
“It’s a good thing I don’t care, then, isn’t it? What business is it of mine that you’ve strutted your ass in my office, knowingly doing so, and now you want to explain to me your reasoning? I give zero fucks whatsoever. See yourself out, or I’ll have you escorted off the premises and trespassed as well.” I’m not surprised in the least with Santiago Martinez’s outburst or how he’s reeling from what his brother said over the phone. What I don’t understand is how he thinks I represent what he’s perceived. Sure, my dress is tighter than what you’d usually find me in—scrubs for work at the doctor’s office, loungewear at home, and my creature comfort of shorts, joggers, and a shirt along with sneakers.
“Please,” I respond, trying to talk to him, but he sits down in his chair again, returning to his work and ignoring me. I blow out a breath of air. Life sucks. I can feel the walls closing in on me, panic setting in, completely thrown for a loop that he doesn’t even want to hear what I have to say. Hendrix was right to be leery. I’m the idiot in this circumstance while I’m trying to breathe through the attack that’s consuming my mind. I don’t think it’s doing any good, though, not with the tunnel vision that’s happening, and I know that leaving on my own won’t be happening anytime soon.
NINE
Santiago
Try as I might, ignoring the woman in my office isn’t easy. In fact, if the woman weren’t being paid by my brother or some kind of fucked-up service, I may have given her the time of day. I don’t have to lift my eyes to the stunning beauty before me to know she hasn’t left even after the plea that left her lips, wishing like fuck it were her moaning please while my head was buried between her spread thighs.