Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“Toss them here,” she orders.
“Yeah, no,” I answer as I stuff them in my back pocket. “Think I’ll save these. I’m sentimental like that.” She doesn’t believe me, thinking I’m going to jack off with them later, but I really do want to keep them as a souvenir of our time in her office.
This office is where she’s going to do big things for Cold Springs and for herself, becoming the attorney she wants to be. And as cheesy as it is, I want to remember that . . . with red, no-show hipsters that have Wren’s scent on them.
“For real?” she challenges, but when I lift a brow in answer, she smiles and pulls her pants on commando. “I’m going to die when I take these to the cleaners. Uhm, yeah, Ms. Maldonado, there’s a sex stain in the crotch of those. Do you think you could treat that without ruining the fabric?” But she doesn’t sound mad, just a little embarrassed.
“I’ll buy you a new pair if that’s better?” I offer.
She looks at me in surprise, her head tilted like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to figure out. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
I shrug. “Yeah, if you don’t want Ms. Maldonado knowing what a sex-starved maniac you are.”
She laughs. “Or maybe I’ll tell her that you’re a panty thief.”
“Yeah, you go ahead and do that and see who’s more embarrassed, me or you. Here’s a hint . . . I don’t give two shits what Ms. Maldonado thinks of me, and I’ve definitely been called worse than ‘panty thief,’” I tell Wren.
Deciding she’s already lost this fight, she redirects. “Did you say you brought chili fries?”
In awe at how fast her mind works when mine is still going, Gooooood . . . happyyyyy, I blink and remember. “Yeah, I did. So you’d have something to eat, because I figured you wouldn’t have.” She blushes a little, her pink cheeks telling me that I’m right. “Come on, I’ll take you home and while you eat, I’ll run you a hot bath. That always makes things better.”
“You take baths?” she asks as we walk down the hall the few doors to the conference room. There are a few papers and a manila folder sitting there, along with Wren’s laptop, but no bag from Puss N Boots.
“That asshole took your dinner!” I shout, pissed off anew.
But Wren laughs and tells me, “It’s okay. I’ve got takeout in the fridge at home from last night. I’ll eat that, but I still want a bath.”
“Deal.”
Chapter 21
WREN
Jesse was right. This bath is exactly what I needed, even if I feel guilty that he’s sitting on the cold floor of my bathroom while I’m scrunched down to get the hot water up to my chin. But like he said, he wouldn’t fit in my tub anyway, especially at the same time as me.
“How’s the contract redo going?” he asks carefully.
It feels like dangerous territory. We both want what’s best for Cold Springs, but it definitely seems like we’ve landed on different ways to get that.
“Meh,” I answer with a shrug. “It’s not as cut-and-dried as I think it should be. There’s no need to rewrite the whole damn thing. A lot of it should carry over with minimal review and approval, but Oliver is dissecting every single word like he’s getting paid per letter.”
“Or by the hour,” he suggests, and I nod, knowing he’s right. “Plus, the more difficult the process is, the more time he gets to spend with you.”
“I am pretty awesome,” I allow, “but it’s not really like that. We talk about the contract ninety percent of the time, what to eat for lunch for five percent, and random bullshit the other five.”
Jesse’s dark brow raises doubtfully. “I’m not saying you’re encouraging him. But he’s after you. Just know that.”
I’m quiet, considering his words. Working with Oliver has been interesting. He’s sharp and understands the legal nuances of writing a contract to equally benefit both parties. That’s a good thing, but it’s also a double-edged sword. If he were a dumbass, I could steamroll over him and favor Cold Springs. Not that I’d do that . . . explicitly. But a little here and there? Absolutely.
Instead, I’m arguing for every little detail.
Which makes me wonder if Jesse might be right. Is Oliver arguing simply to draw this out . . . either for financial gain or for me? The money seems more likely for sure, but I won’t say he hasn’t been friendly, occasionally bordering on a bit flirty, while we work. I just ignore it for the most part and stick to the work at hand, but maybe that’s not the best strategy.
I’ve gone quiet, and Jesse hands me the glass of sparkling water he poured for me while the bathwater ran. I stare into its clear depths, watching the bubbles rise to the surface.