Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 86(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Bingo. Exactly what I wanted.
There’re lots of photos of rescue dogs which, okay, is pretty cute. And there are a few of him kayaking, but I do my best not to linger on those. Those photos, after all, are shirtless. And it isn’t appropriate to see your boss without a shirt. I scroll past, hitting a stretch where Mason’s company was clearly doing the most in terms of PR. It’s event after event after event, all of them glitzy, all of them dripping with more money and wealth than I can dream of.
And in every photo, there’s Mason dressed to the nines and with a different fabulously beautiful girl on his arm each time. They lean against him in the pictures, flashing too-white smiles. Their bodies are perfectly sculpted and tanned, each one of them fluffed and primped to perfection. It’s like a sea of Allisons but worse. With Allison, at least I get to see her out of the make-up and outside the ads. She’s able to laugh at it all and tell me it isn’t real, that this might be retouched or that was a wig or whatever.
But the girls who cling to Mason? It’s hard to imagine that they aren’t goddesses imported from some place where skin always glows and hair always stays perfectly curled.
God, what am I doing? Torturing myself over a guy who’s clearly a playboy. At least I’ve given myself a reality check. After what Lauren was saying, I thought that maybe, just maybe she was right. I allowed myself a little fantasy in which a guy like Mason could be into me. But these are the kind of women Mason surrounds himself with, and, no shade to them, but if someone were playing a fun game of “One of These Things is Not Like the Other,” well… clearly, it’s the librarian-in-training.
Sigh. Still, I definitely don’t need to feel bad about having this guy pay me for being a “nanny” to his nonexistent spawn. He’s loaded and clearly happy to spend it. I don’t feel even a little bad about using him for that. I bet what he’s paying me is only a fraction of the amount he spends on his damn kayaks.
In fact, I get a little curious. I scroll back to one of the kayaking photo posts and click it, then realize that it’s part of a series. I swipe, greeted by multiple photos of Mason out in the water with his stupid paddle and his stupid, smiling face. I hate how it’s a little crooked on the side, like he’s always in on a joke that you don’t know. And his eyes. No eyes should be allowed to be that green. And why is it that, when guys go for a swim, their hair’s always nicely tousled while mine sticks to the sides of my head with a “drowned rat” vibe?
I’m angry-swiping through the rest of the photos now, only to find that the last one is a full-length photo of Mason standing in front of the water. He’s completely shirtless, his swim trunks dipping far too low to be decent, allowing me to see the lines of his abs disappearing beneath the fabric. He’s laughing at someone off camera, arms hanging next to his side. And every single piece of him is tight muscle, from his calves to his shoulders.
Oh, no. I can’t unsee this. I can’t. I knew that he was probably hiding a perfect body under his suit, but this? This is blasphemy.
He’s an asshole, I remind myself. An absolute asshole.
Out of your league.
Still… it’s not like I’m going to marry the guy. I can admit that he’s attractive. Anyone could. In fact, accepting the truth is one part of moving through it, right? And yes. The truth is that this man lines up to so, so many different fantasies that I’ve had in my mind. Fantasies about CEO types who wandered into the library to check out a book but ended up checking out something else instead.
As I stare at the picture of Mason, I can’t help it. I bite my lip, feeling warmth pool in my stomach. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just give in to a little fantasy, to do something about it and get it out of my system.
Yes. That’s clearly the best course of action for me.
After tossing my completely unfulfilling meal in the trash, I take my phone with me to my bunk bed.
And I do what’s needed to properly handle my frustration.
Chapter Four
The next morning, I’m refreshed and refocused. Lauren was right. I have a contract, a paycheck, and a sense of adventure thrumming through my veins. This job might be a curveball, but that’s fine.
Unlike yesterday, today I’m going straight to Mason’s apartment. After all, it’s what’s in the file for this assignment. Nanny duties should begin promptly at eight a.m. at the residence, and conclude in the evening shortly after five p.m., though, per my contract, I am expected to wait until Mr. Cooper gets home if he’s running late. You know, since otherwise I would be abandoning a child.