Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 667(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 667(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
I swallow hard. “I uh—don’t know how to reply to that.”
The man to his right clears his throat. “We’ll meet you upstairs,” he says and only then do I even realize that this gorgeous man is standing in between two other men, but I don’t look at them. Not when he’s still looking at me and ignoring them. Not when his hands are still on my shoulders. The two men leave.
“Have a drink with me later,” my newfound sexy stranger says, a push that is almost a command in his voice. He’s older than me, thirty-five I think, while I’m twenty-seven, and he radiates the kind of confidence I need to own myself. He’s no associate. He’s no subordinate to anyone and I like this about him.
“I don’t even know your name,” I say.
One corner of his really delicious mouth curves and he says, “You will tonight. If you show up. Meet me at Morrell Wine Bar at eight. You owe me the date for running into me, but I’ll buy the wine.” He reaches up and strokes my cheek. “You have beautiful blue eyes, by the way.” And then he leaves me there, stunned and warm all over.
When I can finally walk again, I’m not sure what to do. He has to work for Bennett. Am I allowed to date a coworker? I don’t even know. I hurry toward the subway, and I try to reason with myself. He might not work for Bennett. Maybe he’s just using their services. I haven’t dated in a year. I’ve been too busy. I’m too busy now, but—there is just something about that man. He’s inspiration for all I want and need to be. He owns who he is and what he is. You know this even without knowing him. I need to breathe that in, I need to have a glass of wine with that man.
Grayson
I’m packing up my office with one thing on my mind—the woman with the gorgeous blue eyes—when Eric walks in, his jacket gone, his sleeves rolled up to expose his tattooed arms. My father hates those tattoos, but to me they represent years of experience as a SEAL Team Six member while his Harvard degree is a product of a man who is both a literal savant with numbers and a mastermind behind most of our newest strategies. More so, his honesty and character make him a friend I trust.
“Your father is on a rampage,” he says. “He’s pissed about—well—everything.”
“That usually means people get things done right next time.”
“True,” he says. “Though I prefer your quiet intolerance.” I round the desk and he offers me a folder. “Those numbers you wanted on the building acquisition in Atlanta. They look good. I’d do it.”
“Then we’ll do it. Make it happen.”
“After you look at the numbers. We’re good because we see different things on paper. I don’t want to sign off until I know what you see.”
I nod. “Fair enough. I’ll let you know in the morning.”
“You’re going to see that woman.”
“I am.”
“She’s a new associate.”
I arch a brow. “You checked?”
“Of course I checked. You’re a fucking heir to a billionaire who’s just made his own personal billion.”
“With your help,” I concede, “we’ve both taken a chunk of change and turned it into a whole lot more for this place and ourselves. For me, that’s living up to my father’s expectations. For you, it’s a ‘fuck you’ to your father.”
“And I want many more,” he says. “My job is to watch your ass. I emailed you her file and then some.”
“I’m not going to look at that. I’ll know all I need to know when I’m with her.” I start walking. I’d suspected she might work for the company, which is exactly why I booked our meet-up in my apartment building, not the offices.
“For the record,” Eric calls out behind me, “on paper she’s one of two things: the best thing that ever happened to you or the worst.”
I stop at the door and look at him. “Sounds like the beginning of anything new.” I turn and exit the office, and I don’t even think about looking at that email. There is something about this woman that speaks to me. I can’t explain it, but I don’t want it ruined. I want it pure and I want to learn about her from her.
My car service is waiting on me and in roughly ten minutes, I’m exiting in front of my Central Park building. I hand the doorman my briefcase and tip him well enough to have him ensure my bag makes it to my apartment safely. Nix is a good man, who’s been here the entire five years I have. I trust him. I always surround myself with people I trust, at every level.
I enter the bar, which is an intimate location with low hanging lights, a triangle-shaped bar, and booths lining the walls. I don’t choose a booth. I head to the bar that allows me a view of the entire place and control. I also always choose control. I’ve barely sat down when the bartender sets my usual in front of me, an expensive whiskey they custom order for me. I’m not a man of extravagance by nature, but this whiskey is worth every dime I spend on it.