Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
That statement is ripe with assumptions. After tonight, he’ll likely strip me of all of my security clearances, and I’ll be banned from the Vidori offices for eternity.
“We’re talking tonight, Miss Starling.” He leans back in the seat. “Basil, stop on the way for a strong cup of coffee.”
“For you, sir?” he asks as he gazes in the rear view mirror at Mr. Hunt’s reflection.
“No,” he answers briskly. “For Miss Starling. Make it a large. Have them add a splash of cream and a packet of sugar to it. That’s the way she likes it.”
How the hell does he know how I take my coffee?
I’m tempted to ask, but he’s staring out the window next to him, watching the city flash by as Basil skilfully steers the car through the late evening traffic toward a brief pit stop before I step into my boss’s apartment and find out my fate.
The champagne I guzzled at Nova is hitting me hard.
I trail behind Mr. Hunt as we make our way through the lobby of his apartment building. Naturally, the doorman on duty tosses my boss a megawatt smile while his fingertips dance over his palm.
I know that move. He’s itching for a tip.
He’s tried it with me time and time again when he’s working the day shift, and I swing by to drop off dry cleaning or rare watches.
I typically offer him one of the foil wrapped peppermints I pick up in the lobby of the Beaumont Hotel.
He always thanks me profusely, although I’ve often wondered if he’s secretly seething inside because I don’t slip a five dollar bill into his hand the way my boss is right now.
Wait a minute.
That’s not a five. It’s a fifty.
If I do lose my job tonight, I may have to reconsider a career change to a door person. I’m already an expert at the friendly greeting part of the job. I can hail a cab without any issues, and I’ve been lugging Mr. Hunt’s suits around town, so a few packages from the lobby of a luxury building up to an apartment is well within my repertoire.
“Let’s go, Evangeline.” Mr. Hunt motions for me to board one of the elevators as soon as the doors slide open.
“Most people call me Evie,” I say, even though he likely won’t call me anything but an ex-employee by the time I leave this building tonight.
He tightens his grip around my coffee cup.
After Basil handed it to Mr. Hunt in the car, he complained that it was too hot for me, so he held onto it.
I’d call it punishment, but I sense he’s right. I’ve ordered coffee from that particular chain in the past, and it’s been a little too hot to handle since the cardboard sleeves wrapped around the cups are almost paper thin.
“Does anyone call you Evangeline?” The sound of my boss’s voice flows over me.
I close my eyes briefly. “Just you.”
“Why?” he asks as a ding fills the air, signaling we’ve reached our final destination. “Why just me?”
“Evie suits me better.”
His gaze trails over my face, even as the elevator doors open. I lurch forward to press a hand on the button that will prevent them from shutting before we exit. When I glance at Mr. Hunt again, he’s still staring at me.
My mouth suddenly feels too dry. I look at the coffee cup in his hand, but before I can offer to take it so I can have a sip, he motions toward the corridor leading to his apartment. “You know the way, Evangeline.”
It isn’t lost on me that he ignored my request to call me Evie, but why would he? I’ll likely be back on this elevator within the next ten minutes without a job to go to next week. My only consolation prize will be the expensive cup of coffee he’s currently holding hostage.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Reid
When we left the restaurant, I had every intention of ordering Basil to take Evangeline home, but once she was in my car, I didn’t want the night to end.
Since I need to have a discussion with her about what transpired at Nova tonight, this seems like the time to do it.
As soon as we’re through the doorway and into my apartment, I hand off the coffee. I know she’s been craving it because she could barely keep her eyes off it in the elevator.
“This is perfection,” she murmurs after the first sip.
She brushes past me, and I’m instantly gifted with an unobstructed view of her back and her lush ass as she wanders deeper into my apartment.
That ass should be designated as one of the wonders of the world because that is the ultimate definition of perfection. That coffee she’s drinking is satisfactory at best.
She glances back at me. “Should I take a seat?”
I nod in response.
She settles in the middle of the ridiculously overpriced couch that anchors the living room. It was the choice of an interior designer that I hired when I first moved into this apartment. The only question he asked before he started reimagining the blank slate was if I wanted an extravagant or minimalistic theme. I didn’t have a preference, so I told him to use his imagination.