Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
He flips through them, looking at the little pink-stickered places with an increasingly thunderous expression.
This man is incredibly hot. I’ve seen pictures of him before, of course. Everybody has. But pictures really don’t do him justice. In person, there is an energy that emanates from him, a natural dominance mixed with something I can’t quite put my finger on. He makes me tingle, that’s what it is. I can feel myself responding to him in a way I’ve never responded to any man.
I guess that’s what a billionaire will do to a girl who grew up dreaming of a room of her own, a place that had an actual door, not a towel that sufficed as a modesty curtain.
“Are you going to stare at me all day, or are you going to go and do something useful?” He snaps the words at me without even looking at me.
“I’m just waiting for your next order, sir.”
His ice-flint eyes flick up at me. He nods, briefly, as if that was the right thing to say. “Good. Then you can take these back to Branson, and tell him to contact Marius Walker, and tell him that if he thinks we’re going to go to one point five percent on the OTTS when his over-under is inside out, then he needs to go to rehab, because he’s clearly back on the hard stuff.”
I nod, as if I understand what any of those industry jargon terms mean. Nobody has briefed me on the day-to-day running of this place because nobody expects me to be employed past lunchtime. I assume Branson is the guy I met initially. It makes sense, and if I’m wrong, maybe I can learn his name and then discover who Branson is.
I take the contracts and go back down to the sassy man guarding the general territory. He is filing his nails and looking at his reflection in a desk mirror with an unsatisfied expression that only attractive people can have. Normal people, like me, tend to accept our fate. But hot guys and girls? They’re constantly trying to beat their personal best.
“Are you Branson?”
“Who’s asking?” he says.
“Mr. Lupin says to please contact Mr. Walker and ask him to reconsider the one point five percent on the OTTS,” I say, putting the contracts down.
“I bet that’s not what he actually said.”
“It’s close enough,” I reply. “I’m Kira.”
“Long name for a short girl,” Branson says. “Welcome aboard.”
“Shall I report back to Mr. Lupin?”
Branson shrugs. “Do what you like.”
That does not seem to be advice given in good faith, so I decide to return to Mr. Lupin.
“I’ve returned the contracts, sir, and passed your message on.”
“Good,” he grunts. The sound should be petulant or dismissive, but for reasons I cannot understand, it hits a spot low in my belly. I think it’s the damn near animal tone of it. When Cain Lupin speaks, it’s not just small mouth noises the way it is with most people. There’s a deeper communication happening. I can feel his words doing things to my body in ways that they probably shouldn’t.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
He glances over at me. Those eyes of his make brief contact with mine. The sensation I was trying so hard not to feel the first time I was in his presence returns. I pulse with need. It starts right between my legs, a filthy, primal thing, and it works its way up through my body swiftly, warming every part of me. When it hits my brain, I feel my head spin. My thoughts become fuzzy. All I am aware of is desire. Need. Hunger.
This is why everybody before me got fired. Being in his presence is making me wish he would do unspeakable things to me.
“I will call for you if I need you. You’re dismissed.”
“Yes, sir,” I choke out the words in the effort not to purr them, and I practically flee the room.
The second the door of his office closes, I feel better. Saner.
“Get a grip, Kira,” I lecture myself. “You cannot get fired for that stupid of a reason.”
“Already talking to yourself?” Branson comes past with a laugh.
“Mr. Lupin says he doesn’t have anything else for me to do,” I say.
“Stay close, because when he needs you, he’ll want you instantly.”
I feel a flash of excitement at the idea of being wanted instantly by a beast like Cain Lupin, but I push the thought aside. It’s easier to do that out here, away from his intoxicating presence.
I sit down at the empty desk outside his door. It’s supposed to be a sort of guardian post, I suppose, but there’s something about it that reminds me more of the desk they sometimes put in the hall of school for unruly children. It’s a place that is away from him. It’s a separation.