Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
She does a double-take, her eyes roaming over me. Confusion and heat flare in those pretty, dark depths when they meet mine. “You’ve never worn jeans before.”
“I have. Trust me.”
“Oh. Uh, I’ve never seen you wear them. Not even on casual Friday.”
“Casual Friday doesn’t apply to the boss.”
“It could if you wanted it to.”
I swallow hard. My tongue feels thick, wrong. I feel…relaxed. Amazing. Light. Free. Good. Just…good. I feel good. “Say something mean. I’m kind of at a loss here.”
“Me too.” Sutton bites down on her lower lip, making my dick spring back to life. “You’re…you ripped my dress.”
She spins so I can see the damage. It’s split right along both sides. I have to say, now that I can see more of her shapely legs, creamy skin, and those red lace panties, it’s quite an improvement. But, of course, I won’t say it out loud. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it. And hell, I should stop flirting with my secretary.
“Do you want a t-shirt to throw on over the top?”
“You shoved me out of the bathroom! Rude much?”
“Sorry. I…I had to take care of something.”
“I could have helped you.”
At her words, I nearly fall over. “If you had helped, there would have been an issue…with control. I just needed to have a cold shower. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? That’s a first. I don’t think you’ve apologized for anything before tonight.”
“I also didn’t mean to eat you out and throw you out into the hallway before.”
Sutton’s face becomes a violent shade of red. I think mine probably matches hers.
“I think you stuff your pants with gym socks,” she bites out. “Ugh, god.” She shakes her head wildly. “No. That’s not right. I know now you don’t. I—you— your body wash probably costs like a million dollars a bottle, and it smells a little bit like pickles. They probably make it with leftover vinegar and old dills and upcharge for it, and only rich people with less sense actually buy it.” Her eyes flick down to the floor and pause for a couple of seconds. “I have nothing. Okay? Nothing. Just…let’s order food and sit down and talk. Can we do that? You sit in one chair, and I’ll sit in another. Neither of us will move. We will never ever talk about what happened tonight.”
“What happened?”
“A lapse of j—oh. I see what you’re doing here. Nothing. You’re right. Nothing. We will never speak of this ‘nothing’ again. And it will never be repeated.”
“Do you want a t-shirt?”
“Yes, actually, I do. Thank you. Black, please, because I’m going to take this dress off. It’s too tight, and it hurts. It’s cutting off circulation even when ripped. I never wear it, so I don’t know why I wore it tonight. And these heels are killing me. I’m not fancy enough for your world.”
“My world?”
“Stop. Can you just get me your t-shirt? A fresh one? Because I don’t want to smell like old man sweat or pickles.”
“Old man?”
“That’s right. You’re ancient.”
“Do you have a craving for cake? I might be able to summon some if I stuff the ingredients up my a—”
“Stop! Part of this deal is you never bring up anything you read either! And I don’t think we need to talk. We’ve already established that—that—I think we’ll do fine selling this. Okay. Actually, just—can you get me the t-shirt and drive me home?”
“I think we should talk. I don’t know we’re fine selling it. Nothing happened back there, so…”
“Stop.”
“You don’t want to eat? Your grandma is going to be disappointed. I mean, I’m full, but you—”
“Alright!”
I put up a hand. “Okay, that was a bad joke. I’m not very good at jokes. Or at being nice. You know that. I’m sorry. Really.”
Sutton eyes me up like she expects to be sucker-punched by my meanness at any moment. She backs up a step and sighs. “Fine. We’ll stop for doughnuts on the way home. I’ll tell her dinner sucked, but that I went by her favorite shop and got them just for her to make up for it.”
“I can’t eat doughnuts.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Unless you’d like me to throw up on you…then can’t.”
Her lips compress, and her shoulders sag. “Okay, fine. Let’s talk about something else. Will you please let me make you an appointment on Monday for the—uh—attacks? If you…if you’re worried about it, I’ll go with you, drive you, and make sure you get there. I’ll even go in with you and wait outside on the front step of the place if you want. Just please, please, will you let me call?”
“Do you think they have gluten-free doughnuts? I could go for that.”
“Philippe! This is important!”
Her hands fly to her hips, but she looks at me with so much naked worry and distress on her face that I just don’t have the heart to continue being a jerk right now. I can always get her to make the appointment and cancel it later. Or not go. Or just go and get it over with, figure this shit out. I have to admit it would be nice. Nice to be able to sleep. Nice to not have panic attacks in public or even in private.