Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 100680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Relax. This is a chance encounter.
You’re never going to see this guy again.
1
She was going to be late.
Aston hated being late. Everything in her life was scheduled. She had plenty of reminders set on her phone to keep her on track so things like this didn’t happen.
But she hadn’t accounted for the water in the shower suddenly going cold, meaning she’d had to finish washing her hair in the kitchen sink.
Then, not only did her hairdryer die halfway through blow-drying her hair, but her coffee machine had failed to switch on.
She still had forty minutes to get to work, which was actually plenty. But she liked to always be early. And with her luck this morning, the bus would be late or break down.
Juggling her coffee mug and handbag in one hand, she hit the button for the elevator.
Come on. Come on.
She’d wasted precious moments searching for her coffee travel mug, only to realize she’d lent it to Mr. Logan a few months ago. She needed to add buying a new one to her to-do list.
Finally, the elevator arrived and she picked up the large basket at her feet and got in. Her boss had asked her to bake some blueberry muffins for his meeting today. Which was no hassle.
Wasn’t like she had anything else to do.
She was also carrying some mending she’d agreed to do for Mrs. Janssen, one of her neighbor. The older woman didn’t have much disposable income and was going blind, so she couldn’t do her own sewing anymore. Although Aston thought it would be way easier just to buy some new socks, the other woman wouldn’t hear of it.
If she could have juggled everything, she’d have taken the stairs.
The doors opened and she stepped out into the building foyer, right into the path of a man walking into the elevator. Her coffee tilted as she slammed into him.
No. No, no, no.
Turned out that the Bad Luck Fairy wasn’t finished with her yet this morning. Hot coffee splashed down her dress, making her gasp in pain and horror. At least it had cooled down on the wait for the elevator.
The man jumped back. “Shit! Is that coffee?”
“It’s not lava,” she snapped without thinking.
After a beat of silence, she glanced up at the man who’d spilled her coffee. All. Over. Her.
Shoot.
She should have known. Only he would attempt to walk into an elevator without waiting to see if anyone was exiting.
“You,” she gritted out.
He grinned. He was wearing a white shirt with the arms rolled up to reveal tattooed forearm.
She did not find that sexy.
She. Did. Not.
Tattooed, irreverent, thought they were God’s gift to women men were not her type.
Face it, Aston, at this point, do you even have a type?
That would be a big fat no.
His grin grew as she ran her gaze up over his face. Really? Who wore sunglasses inside? Not to mention that it was barely light outside.
“You.”
“Me,” he confirmed.
“Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?” Then it hit her. “Are you hungover? Oh my God. Are you doing a walk of shame right now?”
She didn’t understand the jab of pain in her chest. What did she care if he’d been out all night with a woman?
This man meant nothing to her.
Sure, she might acknowledge that he was hot, but that didn’t mean she wanted anything to do with him.
He was . . . he was . . . far too full of himself.
He was also known for random acts of kindness and had a smile so sexy she was surprised that her panties hadn’t just self-combusted.
“Walk of shame . . . now, that would imply that I feel ashamed.”
Urgh, she wished she could wipe that smug look off his face.
Aston didn’t know why Maxim Malone riled her up so much . . . he just did. That smile. Those dancing eyes. His gorgeous looks. The way he could charm anyone of any sex . . . it just all pissed her off.
Which made her even more annoyed.
She’d really thought she’d never see him again after she had first moved to New Orleans five months ago.
But as usual, the universe kept showing her just how much it hated her when she’d discovered he lived in her building. She hadn’t even had to ask who he was, one of her neighbors had pointed him out to her. As though he was some sort of celebrity.
Everything seemed to come so easily to him. She bet his hot water never ran out while he was washing his gorgeous hair.
Uh. So she guessed she was jealous, which didn’t make her feel good about herself.
She needed to be better. Be nicer.
It was just so hard to be nice to him. She didn’t know why. Most people she didn’t have a problem with. She didn’t exactly have friends. That wasn’t a good idea. But she was a good neighbor, right? Always feeding people’s cats when they were away or lending them stuff they needed.