Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 85443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
"Yeah, sure. Errands or grounds first?" he asked as we moved toward the door.
"I have a choice?" I asked, beaming maybe a bit too wide for such a small little victory. "Um... errands."
"Alright," he said, walking out the door and leading me down the driveway to a sleek white sports car.
"Is this Byron's?" I asked as Matt moved to open the door for me.
"No," he said, waiting for my feet to get safely inside before slamming the door on me. I guess that was that. And I also guessed that Byron St. James paid really well if his security guards could afford cars that looked almost as expensive as his.
Errands for Matt and me and, ultimately, Byron, included a trip to two separate banks, Mandy's, and the post office. During all of those visits, I was forced to stay in the car. Which was fine by me. I didn't like going to the post office or bank for myself; I certainly didn't want to go there for someone else.
After those errands, we hit the grocery store. And, well, yeah... I wasn't left in the car like a dog that time. I stocked up on granola bars and fruit bars and little snack baggies of trail mix, cradling everything to my chest as Matt methodically threw things into the cart off a list he had in his cell until the cart was almost overflowing. "Alright, go HAM," he told me as we stopped at the top of an aisle, waving a hand down it.
"Go HAM?" I parroted back.
"Hard as a mothe..."
"I know what HAM means; I'm not eighty," I said with an eye roll. "Go HAM with what?"
"Baking shit," Matt supplied, holding out his cell to where the last item on the list said: 'Whatever Prue needs for baking'.
Well, I didn't need to be told again. If he wanted me to go HAM, I was going HAM. I practically cleared the shelves with one hand as I held my own stuff.
"Wanna talk about it?" Matt asked, standing back with a raised brow and a smirk.
"Talk about what?"
"Why you feel the need to make Byron buy eight pounds of sugar."
"He has a sweet tooth," I supplied with a shrug.
"I can see that," he said with a strange smile I didn't trust.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're sweet," he said casually.
"I'm not sweet," I bristled, unsure why I would consider that an insult, but I did.
"Honey, sweet as fucking stolen candy."
"Why would you say that? I haven't done anything even remotely..."
"The shirt. The shoes. The fact that you ain't got a lick of makeup on and you're pretty as shit. You got an armload of food that you're gonna try to stash in that sexy as fuck uniform he makes you wear because you're afraid to demand he let you have regular food breaks. Also, you're holding 'em like you think there's even a chance of me letting you pay for that. And not for nothin', honey, but your face lit up like Christmas morning when I said you could buy whatever baking shit you wanted. Sweet."
"Yeah, well, that has nothing to do with our boss," I said, dumping the contents of my arms into the already overflowing cart.
"Sure it doesn't."
"He barely even notices me." Okay, that was an outright lie, but I was trying to save face.
"Sure he doesn't," he said, his lips twitching again.
"It's not like that."
"Honey," he said, ducking his head a little, his gray eyes looking amused.
"Honey what?"
"The men talk."
"Okay..." I said, raising my brows.
"Heard he carried you out of the car last night..."
"I fell asleep."
"Heard you cuddled in and he carried you up the stairs and," he paused, leaning closer, "to his room."
"It's. Not. Like. That," I insisted, wanting him to believe it almost as much as I wanted myself to believe it.
"You could do worse," he said, head tilted like maybe he picked up on the desperation in my voice.
"I could do a heck of a lot better too," I said, but again, even I didn't truly believe it.
"The fuck he do to you to make you think he's some kind of monster? Like it or not, honey, but he's a good man."
"Says someone who doesn't have to walk around in lingerie during their shift."
"Come on now, can you blame him?" Matt asked, finally giving me a smile that actually crinkled the sides of his eyes. "Looking like you look. Plus, he knew he could get away with it."
"Get away with it. You make it sound like I have a choice."
"Don't you?"
"Ah, no. My first day, he told me to wear that whore uniform and that was that."
"And you did it?"
"Matt, I know you work for him. As in work for him. You get a paycheck that bought you that nice car out front. But I don't work for him. I'm here because I have to be here. I don't have a choice."