Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
As promised, Shaw lent me a car to drive. That went well…insert eye roll. If he was expecting me to lose my shit over his collection of expensive cars, he would have to wait an eternity. I don’t give a single crap about cars. As long as it’s running properly, I’m good. Inside his six door garage, he led me past one exotic sports car after another as if we were in an episode of MTV Cribs.
“You can drive this,” Shaw announced, motioning to a Yukon XL. The look on his face was…dare I say eager. What did he expect me to do? Fall to my knees and kiss his feet for the use of this gas guzzler?
“Don’t you have anything smaller?”
At my query, he leveled me with a narrowed eyed look of utter disgust. “Sorry ma’am, all out of compacts this morning.” Then he threw me the keys and stalked out.
Needless to say, after driving my mother’s Camry for last few months, driving this monster truck has been a trying experience. It’s fully decked out, with every upgrade imaginable. So to say I’m nervous that I may get a scratch on it and that I drive around like I got my license yesterday is an understatement.
By five, I have to be on my way to the bus stop if I’m to get to One Maple on time. I go in search of Shaw and my first stop is his gargantuan sized gym. I won’t even begin to list all the top of the line gym equipment. I’m not even sure the team facilities are this well equipped. It’s empty. Huh.
“Hello?”
“In here,” that deep, smooth voice answers.
Following the voice to its source, I peek into one of the rooms attached to the gym and…ooopsy. Shaw is on his stomach––with like, a hand towel draped over the pronounced globes of his behind. He’s in the middle of getting a massage from a petite blonde that looks like she weighs about as much as one of his arms. I duck my head out quickly and place my hands on my cheeks. My face feels blowtorched.
“Umm, I’m leaving––just reminding you,” I shout, keeping my back to him as I speak.
“Reminding me of what? Where are you going?” Then I hear a muffled, “Ahhh, Natalie take it easy.”
“I’m leaving for work. Sam’s dinner is on the stove. Just heat it up for him. Do you think you can do that?” Silence. “Hello?”
“How are you getting there?” he says gruffly. And once again, he seems pissed for absolutely no reason.
“Bus. I gotta get going. I should be home around two.” As I turn to leave, I suddenly feel a large body right behind me.
“Hold up.” His voice sounds awfully close. Turning, I’m met by a wall of lightly tanned skin, and the blast of heat he’s throwing off. Instinctively, I freeze. I’m no prude, far from it, but there’s no safe place for me to look. Aesthetically speaking, his body is a work of art, sheer perfection. His muscles are thick and defined, the heavy bones of his six foot four stature perfectly proportioned.
My eyes fall and are met by the sight of a very large appendage tenting the scrap of towel he’s wearing. Good grief. And he’s not even hard. I almost feel bad for his girlfriend…or girlfriends. Who the heck knows––or cares, for that matter.
My gaze snaps up. His expression hasn’t changed, and yet I swear there’s a smile in his eyes. My face is on fire again. You could cook and egg with the heat radiating from my cheeks. I go for neutral and stare ahead, at his chest, the one smattered with fine dark hair, the one that apparently has the power to render me speechless.
“How are you getting there?” Huh? I shake off my scientific study of his nonexistent body fat. “Well?”
His voice prompts me to look back up at his face. “Bus.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“What? No, no, nooo,” I say, fervently shaking my head. “That’s not necessary. I gotta get moving, or I’ll miss my bus.”
His mitts are on his hips now, a deep v etched between his brows. “I have a hundred grand invested in you. I need you in one piece. Go tell Mercedes to watch Sam.” Without waiting for a reply, he stalks off. “Meet me in the garage,” he throws over his shoulder.
An investment. Right. It was the height of insanity to believe for just a second that this self-centered jerk could possibly be doing something for anyone’s benefit other than his own. We’ve barely said two words to each other since the office incident, and now I have to sit in a car with him for the thirty minute ride over the George Washington Bridge to Manhattan. Problem is, I don’t have time for a debate.