Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
I swear he looks as though he’s going to kiss me. I find myself leaning into him, wanting the kiss. My stomach lets out a loud growl, and I’m not sure if I want to curse it or thank it for interrupting us, but he smiles.
“Let’s get some food in you.”
I nod my head because I can’t seem to get a single word out. He removes his hand and grabs mine to lead me down the hall. I haven’t had a chance to look around so I take in what I can as we head toward the kitchen.
His house reminds me of one of those staged homes. Everything matches, and you can tell none of it is cheap. But there are no other personal touches anywhere. It almost seems lonely in here. Something I’m all too familiar with.
“I didn't know what you’d like.” He motions to the kitchen island that is covered in takeout containers from multiple places. “If you don’t want any of this, I can try again,” he offers. Why is he suddenly being so sweet and nice to me?
“No, this is more than enough.”
He pulls out one of the high-top stools for me to sit on.
“Drink?”
“Water is fine.” He hands me a plate and a bottle of water. I start filling my plate. “This kitchen is killer. How do you manage not to cook in it?” My mom would have died for this kitchen.
“Never been my thing. It’s only me, and I tend to get home late most nights.” He starts to fill his own plate. “You don’t get to cook where you’re staying.”
“I live on vending machine food,” I tease, but it’s not really a joke.
“Are you serious?” He sees right through me, making me wonder what else he can freaking see. I just shrug. “You should stay here.” I almost choke on the French fries I’m shoving into my mouth like a starved person. He hands me my water to take a drink.
“You’re crazy.” I shake my head. “And confusing.”
“It makes sense. I have all this room. I can easily take you back and forth to work. That’s logical, not crazy.”
“Two problems there.” I hold up my fingers. “You have a girlfriend, and did you forget you don’t like the look of me?”
A sheepish look crosses his face. “She’s a friend. We went to college together.”
“Oh. That kind of friend?”
“What does that mean?” His eyebrows pull together. Oh my God. He looks adorable when he’s confused. I’m guessing that doesn’t happen much.
“A friend with benefits.” He is still not putting it together. “You sleep together but no messy strings.”
“She’s not my type, and I most certainly am not her type. It's one of the reasons we get along so well. She’s not trying to get her claws into me.” He has no reason to lie, and well, I really shouldn't care if he has a girlfriend or not. I should hope he does so I could ruin their relationship. Still, the irritation I was feeling melts away.
“You’re everyone's type.” I stab a piece of sweet and sour chicken with my fork.
“Is that so?” A cocky grin lights up his face. I roll my eyes and swallow my food.
“You know you are. You just said women are trying to get their claws into you.”
“You’re not.” He picks up a piece of the chicken with chopsticks and brings it to my mouth. I open and take it, fighting the warm feeling around my heart. If he only knew that I’m trying to do far worse than get my claws into him. “So you’ll stay.”
I should be jumping at this opportunity. If Chris knew I turned this down, he'd lose his shit. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. He’s doing something to me, and I need to keep some space between us. Problem is what I need to get done would be better with no space. He stares at me, waiting for an answer.
“I don’t like the look of you because you’re distracting.” I open my mouth and then close it. “I don’t care for distractions. Or I didn’t before you.” There’s that dangerous, warm feeling again. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I know it’s Chris, so I ignore it.
“Okay,” I agree.
This is either my best move or my worst. Only time will tell.
Chapter Ten
Warren
“Whoever made up work from home should be brought to the town square and be stoned,” I growl into the computer microphone.
“We don’t have town squares,” chirps Connor. He has a shirt and tie on, but I can only see his shoulders, so I bet he is wearing sweatpants. My assistant has never been happier.
“Then let’s bring them back.” I’m putting him in the center too for being so fucking cheerful.
“You were the one who sent us all home,” he reminds me.