Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“You are magnificent.” I stroke the hair back from her face.
She lets out a laugh. “I think you did all the work there, Big Bad.”
I ease out of her and clean her with some tissues.
She turns and rests her hands on my chest. “But it’s nice to earn some rare praise from the boss.”
I lower my head and kiss her, feeling better now that I’ve marked her with my essence. Like I might be able to function tonight at the party.
Her stomach growls, and I jerk away. “You’re hungry.”
“How did you even hear that? I only felt it.” She stoops to pick up her panties. “There will be food at the party. Are you going to let me go now?”
“You’re going with me.”
“Mmm hmm. Got that memo. Can we go soon?”
I move to put on the tuxedo. She pulls on her panties then leans against the desk to watch me change.
“Do you think Jerry knows I’m screwing the boss?”
I want to lie to her, only because I don’t want her to feel any shame. But I’m not a liar. And with her brains, she just needs the facts of a situation to figure some angle with it. She should have been an attorney.
I meet her gaze across the room with a rueful twist of my lips. “Probably.”
The real answer is definitely. Jerry is a shifter. He smells everything that goes on in this office. He empties our trash. He has shifter hearing, and he’s outside the door cleaning right now. He probably heard her ask the question.
She nods.
“Do you mind?”
She turns away from me, so I can’t read her face. “Eh. It is what it is, I guess.” She walks to the door. “I need to power down my laptop.”
I button up my crisp white tuxedo shirt trying to identify the sense of dissatisfaction that’s still around despite assuaging my wolf’s appetite for Madison a moment ago.
It seems the sex is no longer enough for me.
I want all of Madison. I want to know what’s going on in her head. More than that, I want her to share it with me, to confide, to show me her real feelings. This habit she has of buttoning it all up is getting under my skin.
Outside my door, I hear her ask Jerry if he’s going to the party. I bare my teeth, a wolf-snarl rising up in my throat at the mere fact she’s talking to another male. In that dress.
A male who is absolutely no threat.
Even so, I barrel out my door and cast Jerry a dark look, which he immediately heeds by moving swiftly away from behind Madison’s desk.
Why in the fuck was he so close to her, anyway?
I stalk over and take Madison’s hand, the seething not abating until I have her safely in the elevator.
Fuck me. I will not survive this night.
Madison
I swear Blackthroat was jealous of me talking to the janitor back at the office. He got grumpy and barely said a word on the ride over to the hotel. The horrible weather matches his dark mood. It’s snowing that heavy, wet precipitate that makes him keep the windshield wipers at full speed.
The idea that Brick Blackthroat might feel threatened by a sixty-year-old janitor is so ludicrous, it’s laughable. I guess he really does feel territorial of me when I wear this dress. I wish that didn’t satisfy me so much. I wish I wasn’t rapidly falling for this man. Because I could definitely get used to this. The more time I spend with Brick, the more time I want to spend with him, which is a problem. Because I am terrified of falling off the cliff. I don’t want to end up like my mom–in love with some rich guy who is just sowing his wild oats before he settles down with some socialite who fits the family pedigree.
Blackthroat uses valet parking, and it seems we’re right on time. The ballroom Moon Co rented is rapidly filling, with festive employees dressed in gowns and tuxes streaming in. The banquet hall is tastefully decorated, and a string quartet plays pop tunes in one corner. That was Genevieve’s idea. I guess she’s a Bridgerton fan or something. I personally think it’s a touch stuffy, but what do I know? I’m not from the same social sphere as most of these people.
A waiter walks by with a tray of canapes, and Blackthroat summons him over then indicates it’s for me. I pick one and pop it in my mouth.
“Hold up,” Blackthroat demands as the waiter starts to move away. “She’s hungry.”
“Oh.” I let out an embarrassed laugh and scoop two more hors d'oeuvres off the tray. “It’s true, I am. Thanks.”
I spot various members of the executive team looking as at-home and devastatingly handsome in their tuxedos as they did at the last ball, only this time they each have a gorgeous woman on their arm.