Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Nope. Not going to play the compare game.
I forced myself to stop looking at the picture, instead electing to read the article.
NFL Raptors hosted their annual charity gala at the Four Seasons in Raleigh and among the elite spotted at this event, none were more noticeable than Lena Nelson of Nelson Tech and Weston Rutherford, owner of the Raptors and Rutherford Marketing.
The two have been spotted countless times over the last two years, only fueling the rumors around the tech world about a possible merger of Nelson and Rutherford industries. The merger would be a powerhouse and a complementary one at that. The combination of their two corporations would shatter the competition who would fight each other for their scraps.
When asked, Rutherford denied any hints at a merger, but we caught up with Ms. Nelson later on in the evening who had this to say: “Weston and I have been friends for a very long time. We know we work well together and we’ve talked in length about how valuable a partnership between us would be. You’ll see us again.”
While Ms. Nelson’s answer was vague, we’re reading between the lines. The tech industry definitely needs to keep watch for these two powerhouses because if they combine their efforts, it will most certainly change the industry.
I blew out a breath, my heart sinking just a fraction. I’d lived in Weston’s world long enough to know that press was rarely accurate, but I couldn’t help the way it sent my mind spiraling.
I’d left the gala early that night to work on the Nike project. What if I hadn’t? Would this newsletter look different? Would they have been asking Weston about me? About who we were to each other? Was I working too much and not focusing on Weston enough?
I knew that he didn’t need a hundred percent of my attention, but I’d never been in a position where I had to balance a love life and a work life. Maybe I was doing it wrong? Is that why Lena was able to sneak in? Had they talked more after the reporters left them alone?
Jealousy snaked its way into my chest, and I cringed. I couldn’t be jealous of Lena, she was vile.
But he’d been with her before me.
Fuck.
“Why are you frowning at your phone?” Weston asked as he came back into the room, sitting down next to me.
I took a deep breath and turned my phone toward him.
He glanced at the picture, then skimmed the article before nodding. “Yeah they snapped a photo of us after you left,” he said. “Does it upset you?”
I parted my lips. “Not really,” I said, hating the uncertainty swirling in my stomach. I had no right to be jealous. Weston had done nothing wrong and this was his world. I was well aware of how much the press was in his life. Hell, I’d been in more than a dozen features with him simply because I was his assistant. “I know you’re not together in that way anymore just as much as I know you can’t avoid things like this happening. Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”
“Brynn,” he said, my name rolling off his tongue in a claiming way as he pushed out of his seat. He tugged my chair out as he settled on his knees before me. The sight made me laugh as he parted my thighs and leaned between them, our faces eye-to-eye. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here,” he said, his large hands playfully squeezing my thighs for emphasis.
I ran my fingers through his hair, smiling at him.
“Same,” I said, relief washing away the doubt threatening to ruin everything.
Weston was with me all the time, he was my best friend, and he would never hurt me.
His wolfish smile deepened as he ran his hands up and down my thighs. “Damn,” he said.
“What?”
“I thought we were about to have our first fight.”
I laughed. “Do you want to fight with me?”
“I sure as hell would love making up with you.”
I brushed my lips over his, a thrill bursting beneath my skin as I pulled back, pushing my chair away enough that I could stand up. He tilted his head, still on his knees as he looked up at me.
I bent at the waist, lowering my lips to the shell of his ear. “I’m a Cowboys fan,” I whispered the words, then turned on my heels and ran.
“You’re so done!” Weston growled, chasing me through the house.
I ran up the stairs, giggling like a damned teenager after uttering the most traitorous words I could ever say to Weston. “You said you wanted to fight!” I squealed as I took the corner leading to his bedroom.
“Oh, we’re fighting!” he said, catching up to me before I could make it to my own version of base—his bed. His arms wrapped around me from behind, pressing my back against his chest.