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)
And that was a good thing. Our lives were too entangled. Crossing any one of those lines would send us spiraling into a ruin we surely wouldn’t make it back from. Besides, he had women like Lena constantly vying for a coveted spot on his arm.
He smoothed his thumb over the back of my hand, and the innocent touch sent a jolt of electricity straight down my spine. God, I couldn’t help but wonder what else could those hands do?
“I’m sorry I was breathing down your neck,” he finally said. “I’m not used to…”
“To having me run anything other than your schedule?” I asked when he didn’t finish.
His eyes met mine, and damn him, the look he gave me was hard to breathe around. “I’m not used to being away from you all day.”
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding. He kept doing that thing with his thumb against my hand, and it made my mind whirl with of fantasies about where else he could stroke my skin.
Stop! He’s your boss. And your oldest friend.
I pulled my hand back, trying to laugh away the tension making my body tight. I pretended to clear up some things on my desk, literally just shifting my tablet and some pens to the other side of it. Anything to give me space to breathe in air that wasn’t drenched in his intoxicating scent.
“Figured you’d enjoy the reprieve,” I said.
He watched me shift around the items on my desk, eyes calculating. “I don’t like it,” he said, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Poor Mr. Rutherford, not used to not getting his way,” I teased.
“Cut that shit out too,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “What’s with the Mr. Rutherford crap? You’ve known me since we were drinking out of solo cups and avoiding my family’s politician guests at parties.”
I pressed my lips together, and bit back another laugh. “I don’t know,” I said. “It felt right to address you like that in front of the team. The last thing I need is someone thinking I was handed this position because we’re friends.” I cringed. “Well, that or what the truth actually is…that I was handed this position because you lost a bet.”
Weston hissed, then pushed off the desk, stopping only a breath away from me. “I should’ve offered it to you the second I bought the place. Hell, before I bought it,” he said, eyes intently on mine as he looked down at me. “And not because you’re my friend or even because you’re my assistant, but because you’re brilliant.”
Emotion climbed up my throat, and I tipped my chin to hold his gaze. “Then why didn’t you?”
Sure, I’d kept the masters portion of my degree to myself, but he’d always known my passion was marketing.
Something tightened in the space between us, or maybe that was just my feelings getting way too caught up in how close he stood to me. It wasn’t new…the closeness, the ease around each other physically. But it was getting harder every day to ignore how my body reacted to him, how my heart sped up every time I heard his voice.
“I didn’t because I’m a selfish bastard,” he answered with a shrug. He dragged a knuckle down my cheek, and I swear my blood was on fire with the innocent touch. He looked at me for a few more seconds, then blinked a couple of times before backing up.
“So, it’s not about your trust issues with delegating larger tasks to people?” I asked.
He shook his head, and I watched as he walked with that confident gait of his back to my office door.
“Don’t work too late,” he said, then paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. “And Brynn?”
The look in his eyes pinned me to the floor.
“Yes?”
“You’re not wrong about the trust issues,” he admitted, then shrugged. “But there’s only one person in the world I trust implicitly. And that’s you.”
WESTON
“What the hell are you still doing at work?” Hendrix Malone—my best friend and the current best wide receiver in the NFL—asked by way of hello when I answered his FaceTime call.
We had a standing monthly call ever since he’d traded to the Cougars—Gareth Maxfield’s team. Normally, I was already home or out for late-night drinks, but not tonight.
“Brynn is still working,” I said.
“Ohhh,” he said, dragging out the word and pairing it with a shit-eating grin. “That explains it.” He laughed. “I’ve never known you to work past seven.”
I shrugged. “Unlike Asher, I know my limits and actually enjoy my time off.”
Asher was the definition of a workaholic, but ever since he paired up with Daisy, he’d been taking more time off. It was good for him to find a life outside of work, but I couldn’t help it that right now my life and my work were colliding in a big way.