Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“My name is Parker Jacobson, and I’m a mildly insulted graphic designer,” I snapped. Damn it, he was stealing all my holiday cheer! “I designed your business cards, among other things.”
Such as this year’s gift to the employees from corporate.
“I see.” He leaned forward and picked up one of his business cards from the little holder. “Well, Parker Jacobson, it’s not normal behavior to ask your boss for a ride.”
My ears felt hot again. The man made me feel like Bambi on ice, which I’d already thought was my default setting in life. I usually tumbled around and hoped for the best. And I knew I wasn’t always normal. Most people had a little voice in the back of their head that let them know what was okay to say out loud. Well, that voice fell out and died when my mom dropped me as a baby.
“Excuse me for trying to save the planet,” I fibbed. “We’re in a global climate crisis, you know.”
He snorted at that, and for a fraction of a second, I swore I spotted a smile. I took that as a huge win.
Then he pushed the packages my way again. “Be downstairs at seven thirty on the dot, and if you speak excessively in the car, you’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“Thank you so much, sir.” I grinned and hurriedly scooped up the packages again. “I’ll have the bottle rewrapped. I’m looking forward to my walk. See you tomorrow.”
He shook his head at me, but I focused on the pinch of amusement in his eyes.
DECEMBER 2
I yawned as an expensive car drove up right outside the entrance, and I supposed I shouldn’t be surprised to see Mr. Abrams rolling down the window from the back seat. Of fucking course he had a personal driver. Of course he did.
“Get in, Parker Jacobson. We have a planet to save.”
“Ha-ha.” It was too early to acknowledge his probably first joke ever. Before I could open the door, his driver was out of the car and opening it for me. “Oh, wow. Thank you.”
This was unbelievable. Maybe it wasn’t grand enough to be called a limousine, but it still had a divider between the driver’s section and the rear, and two seats faced each other back here. With my boxes from Mr. Williams in my grasp, I sat down across from Mr. Abrams and buckled my seat belt.
Mr. Abrams was reading the paper. No glasses today.
What a fun travel companion he must be.
“Did you bring a paper as a social cue for me to keep my mouth shut?” I asked. “Because that won’t work.”
He didn’t even look up from the paper. “It’s a long walk to corporate from here.”
I wrinkled my nose.
He had a point.
As we headed out into traffic, I took a few seconds to have a look-see. Cupholders in the doors, always nice. He had a small to-go mug stuck in one.
He was probably an espresso guy.
His entire character was kind of immense. I couldn’t not observe him. And it was the air around him, the vibe he gave off, more so than his stature. I mean, that was pretty impressive too; he was tall and had a stocky build, but most people looked like skyscrapers next to me.
Not that many could be so quiet and yet ooze “I own the world” like Wyatt Abrams could, on the other hand.
I had a slight thing for such men.
The Daddy Dom type.
“It’s not polite to stare, Parker,” he said mildly and turned the page.
I let out a laugh, unable to help myself. Could he be any hotter? He smelled incredible too. Another day, another bespoke suit. It was dark blue today. Never a wrinkle in sight, obviously. One leg folded over the other. Shoes professionally polished, I bet. Rich people had services to hire for everything.
“Can I ask why you treat every day at the office like it’s your own funeral?” I asked.
“When I die, there won’t be a funeral,” he responded coolly. “I intend to donate whatever I can to science.”
I shook my head. Noble and all, but even after his death, he would rob people of the fun experience of hosting a funeral service.
“Surely someone loves you enough to throw a memorial…? You have a big family.”
Most of them were involved in the family business—on his uncle’s side. As far as I knew, Wyatt didn’t have any siblings, just cousins. Many of them. And three stood out. Three men had risen over the years and managed their own branches. Clarke’s two eldest sons, both located on the East Coast, and Wyatt.
“Hm.” Exciting response.
“Wow,” I mouthed to myself.
Safe to say, I wasn’t going to become besties with my boss.
Starting to feel hungry, I opened my jacket and retrieved the stack of cookies I’d wrapped in a napkin before leaving this morning.