Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
The voices blur together during my elevator ride. All the way to the thirty-eighth story.
The office is half full. All the assistants are here, at their desks, setting up, making calls, checking schedules.
I turn left outside the glass-walled conference room. March to my desk—the one outside the biggest corner office.
But it's empty.
The framed photo of my high school graduation, that tin of tea Mom loved, the tiny gold Buddha that matches the one in Dad's room—
They're gone.
The desk is already clean. No computer, no files, no pens. Nothing.
I move closer. To inspect the damage.
The desk has been wiped down. It's already dry.
It's already cleared of any hint of me.
"Oh my God, Jasmine. I'm so sorry. I tried to tell him it was wrong, but you know how he is." Amanda, Mr. Billing's personal assistant, moves toward me. She rests her hand on my shoulder.
I turn, breaking the touch.
She presses her hand to her heart. Makes that I'm sorry face. Her blue eyes fill with sympathy. Then with something else. Something happy.
She's… excited.
"I know losing this job is rough. But you must be over the moon. A whirlwind affair with your ex-boyfriend. And now you're getting married! Why didn't you tell me you knew Shepard Marlow?"
I motion to my cleared desk.
"Mr. Billings is upset you didn't tell him."
"It's really none of his business."
She scoffs. "You're engaged to a competitor."
Shep is hardly a competitor. Sure, he owns part of a venture capital firm, but they focus on business-to-business application development, not consumer technology.
"Seriously, Jasmine. It's so romantic. When did you see him?" She touches my shoulder again, this time a little more gently. "When did you first know? Did you look into his eyes and just fall in love?"
"Something like that."
"I didn't realize he was so handsome. Those eyes… is he as intense as he looks?" She raises a brow, so I know she's talking about sex.
My face flushes. The heat trickles down my body an inch at a time. I try to hold it off, to keep my thoughts in clearer places, but I can't.
His hands on my thighs.
His lips on my neck.
His cock driving deep inside me.
Shep was always caring, attentive, skilled. But it felt like he was holding something back.
Stopping himself.
Refusing to share some part of himself with me.
At the time, I didn't notice. Now that I've been with other men…
God, it's been awhile. Too long. I still think of him sometimes. Lots of times. The firm touch. The sure posture. The way his voice got low and demanding.
It scared me back then.
Now…
It scares me how much I want to hear that tone again.
"Oh my God, he is!" she shrieks. Looks around, at the other assistants turned our way. Lowers her voice. "I'm sorry. I know it's not the time. But, really, Jasmine. This is amazing." She holds out her arms, offering me a hug. "I'm so happy for you."
I let her squeeze me.
"Things are really looking up, huh? I expect great things for you."
That makes one of us.
I skip the file box. Put everything in my knock-off designer bag. The one Dad bought for me two birthdays ago.
He still beams with pride every time he sees it. He still reminds me about the deal he got in Chinatown, the way he haggled the price down from fifty dollars to twenty-five.
It's not the most well-made. The stitches are crooked. One seam is peeling. The red is faded.
But it's still my favorite handbag. I love it for his love. I love it more than I'd love the real thing.
Everything fits. Not that I have much. A few pictures, an oolong tea, a toiletry kit, spare makeup, extra underwear. For long nights. Not illicit ones.
Now that Shep—
My body buzzes at the thought of his firm hands. That low voice in my ear, whispering dirty promises.
I'm going to get you on your knees, Jasmine. I'm going to make you beg for my cock.
How can something so wrong be so hot?
He is not going to make me ask.
He is not going to make me beg.
He's certainly not going to get me on my knees.
Not that I—
I mean. I want that too. The feel of him in my mouth, his hands in my hair, his low groan as he spills—
Ahem.
That's so far beyond my point. I don't care how much I miss sex with Shep. Or how much I miss sex, period. There's no way in hell I'm begging him.
I suck a breath through my nose, but it does nothing to cool my cheeks. I'm hot all over.
And I asked him to pretend with other people. He's going to kiss me, touch me, hold me—
He's going to kill me. I'm going to die of pent-up desire. I'm going to be the first person to die from sexual frustration.
At least I'll go out swinging.
I step out of the building. Onto the sidewalk. It's not as busy a little past rush hour, but it's plenty happening. Heels and dress shoes tap the pavement. The sun bounces off the glass buildings, turning the ground bright white.