Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
My grandmother’s death six months ago had renewed interest in my family’s connection to Verity. It was mildly embarrassing to me professionally, but I could shrug that off. It was the way Goode continued to sully my grandmother’s brilliant career and then my mother’s continuation of the legacy that I had a problem with. Verity Blake wasn’t the founder of a meaningless source of gossip. Her reporting had changed the political and social landscapes in Britain. Now the magazine that had meant so much to her and her readers was reduced to peddling celebrity gossip.
Short of taking out a hit on Bob Goode, I didn’t know what to do. I rose from my desk and turned, facing the window and St. John Street below. Fuck. I needed some inspiration. I shoved my hands into my pockets and tried to think.
A knock on the door stopped my Thinking Time before it could start. I checked my watch. It was only ten to twelve. Who the fuck was bothering me? I didn’t need to wait long to find out. Before I’d answered, my door was flung open and Sofia appeared.
“I know it’s not twelve but if I leave it, Douglas will be in here and I can’t risk you flouncing out as soon as he leaves.”
Flouncing? I never flounced anywhere. My eye was drawn to her chest. The buttons of her blouse had come undone and her bra was on display. Was it deliberate? Was she coming on to me? She seemed borderline contemptuous most of the time, which was fine as long as she did her job. But it confirmed my suspicion that her wardrobe malfunction wasn’t deliberate. A good thing, since it would save me the trouble of telling her I wasn’t interested. I never mixed personal and professional, never shat on my own doorstep. I’d learned my lesson the hard way. The women who worked for me were as non-sexual as a loaf of bread. That was the way it ought to be.
I didn’t know much about Sofia, but I knew she was book smart. And she came across as a little more street smart than most of the assistants I’d had before her. Surely she was too good at reading people to believe coming on to me was the right idea. That meant she was accidentally showing off her bra to everyone she met.
I mentally went through my options.
If I told her, she’d think I was an arsehole for taking a peep. Already, my gaze had lingered a little too long where it shouldn’t have. Bronzed flesh pushing against black lace, bulging over it, visible through it . . . For a flash, Sofia was more than bread. If I had less self-control, less-strict rules about how I saw women in the office, I’d be salivating.
For just a moment, the sight of her transported me out of the office and into some far-away hotel room, a beautiful woman at my side. I’d strip her naked and trail my tongue across her skin from ankle to temple before fucking her. Hard. Long. So deep I might never come back.
“Andrew,” Sofia said, and I snapped back into the present. Loaf of bread. She’s a loaf of bread. “Bob Goode returned your call.”
Fuck. How had I missed that?
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Fuck. You should have put him through.”
“Are you actually kidding me? You’ve glared at me like a fucking cobra for daring to disturb you at eleven fifty-five. If I came in here an hour ago, you might have cleaved my head off.”
Did cobras glare? What a weird analogy.
And cleave? That was an oddly poetic expression. Why not just say bite?
Also, did she just use the F-word with me?
This woman was—where was my focus? “Get Bob back on the phone.”
“Okay. For future reference, if he calls while you’re doing your morning downward dog—or whatever it is you do in here from six to twelve—what should I do?”
Downward dog? She was off, but not by much.
“Just put him through. Bob is the only reason I’m to be disturbed before midday.” I turned back to my desk.
“I’ll make sure everyone else takes a seat. Even your mom. Figures.”
I didn’t even want to know what she meant by that. I got the gist. She wasn’t dishing out compliments. But she could keep the attitude in check. What she thought of me rang out loud and clear. Again, I didn’t care so long as she did her job.
The door slammed on her way out and I waited by the phone. Bob Goode calling me back. What could be made of that?
Without so much as a cursory knock, my door flew open again.
It was Sofia, her cheeks burning red and her blouse now done up, right to the top button. “He’s busy. I’ve left a message for him to call back.” She held one of those Starbucks insulated cups with the word “London” around the rim.