Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
The sound of his shoes bounces off the slick floors before I can swallow his words. “Intentions are empty without actions to back it.”
His feet halt, and I see the flicker of his hand fisting. Does it feel good to know I’ve gotten to him? Why yes, yes, it does.
Noah starts walking again, not bothering to reply.
As my gaze travels past him, it’s then that I realize he’s going to ride up to the office with me, exactly what I’m looking to avoid. It’s fine. I’ll just let him catch the first available elevator. I walk to the bank and wait. Just the two of us with ten feet keeping us apart. I wish I could stand the silence, but I’m kind of bothered by his lack of response, and because I’m curious, I ask, “So you wouldn’t have taken the job if you had known I worked here?”
He slowly turns to look at me over his shoulder. “Why do you think I took this job? To make your life hell? No, sorry, but this isn’t about you, Olivia.”
“Oh, now you remember my name.” Figures.
“I remember more than your name, babe.”
His smirk punctures the air, causing my body to riot against my sensible head. I definitely remember more than his name, too. That’s the problem. I remember everything so vividly. I remember how he made me feel alive, wanted, sexy. I felt like a woman instead of a side piece, whole instead of underestimated.
If not careful, Noah Westcott is dangerous to my resolve.
Then he opens his mouth, and says, “You better get used to this mug because it’s here to haunt you.” And I have no problem remembering why we should never work together.
A scream rages through my veins, but I don’t release it. I won’t let him revel in my anger. “Screw you, Westcott.”
“Already been there and done you, Bancroft, but thanks for the offer.” The elevator that opens is right in front of him. Naturally. Damn him.
He waves me in. “You can take this one.”
I don’t hesitate. I pass him quickly and punch the button for the forty-sixth floor, thrilled to have an empty elevator to blow off steam before I reach the office. “Don’t follow me upstairs.”
“Don’t act like I’m the stalker. You’re the one who tracked me down at the deli.” Those words leave his mouth just as the doors close, but I shove half my body out. “For your information, I did not stalk you at the deli. I missed lunch.”
Feeling better, I stand back up and straighten my jacket before punching the button to get these torturously slow doors to close.
As if he’s entertained, he wears a smug-ass smirk on his stupid face. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“I barely sleep at night, so stalking you won’t help the situation.” Oh my God, why am I blabbering to him? Ignore him.
Speaking of buttons, he’s pushed every one of mine.
But when another man, a very attractive man around my age or maybe a few years older, well-groomed with his perfectly styled hair, clean-shaven face, and dark-gray suit that fits him to a T, steps on the elevator with me, I discover there actually are a few buttons left to push on Mr. Westcott as well.
With my eyes back on the jerk, I grin, knowing exactly how to end this. Just as the doors begin to close, I lick the corner of my lips, and ask the stranger, “Which floor are you going to?”
“Hold the elevator!”
Damn him.
5
Noah
The guy sticks his hand between the doors to keep them from closing. His mistake is my gain. Although I have visions of destruction for the way he was looking at Liv, the fool gives me the pleasure of ruining her little game.
I step inside, grinning ear to ear. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem.”
Another roll of her eyes has me thinking she’ll injure herself if I stick around much longer. While she’s in the corner cursing my existence, I do a quick summary of this guy, noticing the baseball cufflinks. Jumping in to take advantage of the opportunity, I ask, “Mets or Yankees fan?”
He laughs like I’ve uncovered a secret obsession of his. Nah, I had summed up this joker the second I saw him. Some call it a talent of mine. I call it skill. Rubbing his jaw, he says, “Braves. Just moved from Atlanta.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Got a job on the . . .” Not actually interested in what this guy has to say, I catch Liv holding her breath. I never have problems reading a woman, just like I did this guy, but she’s been a challenge since our reunion. What I thought would be a good thing apparently is the worst thing to ever happen to her. Add in the stares that hold daggers along with her clear as fucking day words to my face, and I can’t say she’s been part of the Bancroft & Lowe welcome wagon.