Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
An extra button has already popped open since my arrival, and she suddenly appears to have all the time in the world for me. I have no intention of having sex with anyone at the office. Those kinds of entanglements can ruin a career, and I’m just launching mine.
She stops just outside a conference room with a plaque engraved with CR 1. “The meeting has already started, Mr. Westcott.” She briefly glances back. “As I said, you’re late. Make a quick apology and then agree with whatever they’re saying. That’s how I get by, and it works every time.”
I could let the slight regarding tardiness go, but since she’s said it twice, I feel the need to defend myself. “I was told nine o’clock.”
“I know,” she replies, tapping her watch. Giving me half her attention, she adds, “They like to test the new hires.”
“Great.” I sigh under my breath. I’ve already blown it.
“Nine oh three.” I’m hit with a devious glint in her eyes. “Good luck.”
A wall obscures the contents of the room, so I ask, “Why do I need luck?”
“With that attitude, you’re going to need all the luck you can get. This isn’t the small pond of fishies you’re used to swimming with at Beacon University.” A click of her tongue escorts her eyebrow shooting up. “This is the ocean. You’re swimming with sharks now.” She opens the door without so much as a warning, and announces, “Noah Westcott.” With a quick whip of her head toward the door, she adds, “Start swimming.”
As if she’s been glued to the wood of the door, I dip my head in to see a room full of eyes staring at me and not a smile in the crowd. Shit.
The sharks are ready to eat.
I force my feet forward, throwing my hand up to the side of me like I’m the new guy, basically like an idiot, and wave. “Hello.”
I’m met with silence.
She’s right. This is not the same pond I’m used to ruling.
“Mr. Westcott.” A voice pulls my eyes to the far side of the room. Lawrence Bancroft, graying around the temples and sporting less hair than his online photos, stands with a friendly grin. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you, I’m happy—” I reply to the only familiar face I spy in the room after a quick scan until my eyes land on her.
My heart lurches to a stop and drops to the pit of my stomach. My hands sweat, and despite my usual knack of keeping my cool around women, my breath chokes in my chest. When my throat dries from the sight of her, only one word slips out. “Liv.”
“Ah! You know my daughter, Olivia?”
Olivia.
Olivia.
Liv . . .
Liv is Olivia Bancroft.
Fuck.
His words spin around my head not making sense as I watch her chest fill with a jagged breath as her hands fist the edge of her jacket. She squeezes her eyelids closed, but then a burst of energy shoots through, and she bolts upright . . . next to her father. “Why don’t we let everyone get back to work?” Her eyes are trained on her father as if she’s afraid to look away.
Daughter. Father . . . Bancroft.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He turns back to the filled room and claps his hands. “Remember. Give them hell out there. Now get to work.”
Not exactly the warm and fuzzy, go get ’em team speech, but I guess everyone has their own form of motivation. I can’t dwell on what makes him tick. I just need a minute to process this situation, to process that I’m staring at a woman who I’ve not only seen naked but also fucked like there was no tomorrow.
There wasn’t supposed to be. We made an agreement that night, and even when I slipped a little possibility into the equation, she stuck to the deal.
Fuck that.
I wasted not just minutes but hours and days over the past couple of years thinking about what I could have done differently to make her stay. Or why she snuck out in the first place.
I was a fool to believe that night was special.
Fuck special just like she fucked me over. I gather my wits about me, remembering how that one encounter fucked with my brain chemistry. I traveled through the stages of grief in record speed until I landed in anger. That stage served me well for a while. Fucking became a mission. I fucked with abandon. It didn’t matter. Not at that time.
I should probably apologize to a few of the girls I dated back then, but they were calculated in my downfall since they were having their own needs met. Yeah, there were no complaints. I was used in other ways. Being on the arm of a Westcott was enough in our small town of Beacon to gain recognition. And they reveled in that attention.