Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Yes, okay, my first thought had been to say mouth, but that was an error because I fucking refused to find this privileged know-it-all attractive.
“Alright, children, that’s enough.” Champ rolled his eyes tiredly.
I sighed. “Regardless, Kev, you’re not a professional security expert, so you need to back the fuck off. When I say Champion Security’s systems are clear of current vulnerabilities and intruders, I know what I’m talking about.”
I glanced back over at Champ, urging him with my eyeballs to trust the man he’d hired for this job.
Thankfully, he got the message. He stood up from the kitchen table and leaned over to press a kiss against the top of his wedding-planner boyfriend’s head and then one on his cheek. “Then I guess we’re heading back to the office. Good luck at your meeting, baby. I love a destination wedding as much as anyone, but hopefully, you can convince them that actively searching for the Bermuda Triangle is more of a honeymoon thing.”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “Your lips to God’s ears.”
Kev shook his head as I passed him. “You’re making the wrong choice, Huxley. My scans found a vulnerability, and you won’t even entertain the idea that—”
I stopped and spun to look at him. He shut his mouth with a clack and swallowed nervously.
To the casual observer, Kev Rogers was a nerd-boy wet dream—a Clark Kent, attempting to conceal his Superman looks, intelligence, and shrewdness from the rest of the world with nothing more than a pair of black glasses and an aw-shucks-please-underestimate-me attitude—and somehow, unbelievably, it worked.
But I was not a casual observer, and I did not underestimate him.
No one as gorgeous, as wealthy, as smart, as sexy, and as funny as Kev Rogers could be as fucking sweet and insecure as he pretended to be.
He was looking for attention. He wanted my job. He was trying to drive me insane.
And that was why I tried—as hard as a red-blooded human with a massive, debilitating hard-on for gorgeous, nerdy guys possibly could—not to give it to him.
“I ran my own scans, Kev,” I said breezily. “They detected nothing.”
He huffed out a breath, and I saw that he was tapping his index finger to the side of his thumb—one of his odd nervous tics. “You and I might have our differences, but you know I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”
“Sure. I know that,” I said sincerely. Then I leaned into his space a tiny bit, getting a whiff of his vanilla-and-coffee scent. “But you know I’m damn good at my job.”
“Yes! But that’s why we have redundancies! That’s why two pairs of eyes are better than one! You can be good—you can be great—and still miss something—”
“But I didn’t,” I said firmly, ending the conversation—and, hopefully, my entire acquaintance with Kev—once and for all.
Since I was highly motivated, it didn’t take me long to pack up as much of our tech gear as possible, along with my beloved pet rabbit, Rodrigo, and load everything in Champ’s truck. We made a minicaravan as we drove away from the mansion. Elvo and Riggs rode in Riggs’s big truck, Jordan and Champ followed in Champ’s, and I brought up the rear in my Jeep with Foo Fighters blasting from the speakers.
Part of me wanted to shoot the bird out the window at Kev, as a symbol of my annoyance for his interference in my job, but then again, he had helped us by providing that decoy Horn for our last job.
And I supposed, if I thought about it, that we had put him out a tiny bit by taking over several rooms in his home as our satellite offices while I worked on patching our systems…
And…
I sighed.
Okay, fine. Kev meant well. There, I said it.
He had a big heart. That wasn’t up for debate. He did. He just… he was also a nosy know-it-all who was always right there, invading my life, trying to steal my job and my sanity. Putting a little distance between us for the first time in two weeks was going to be a huge relief.
When we returned to the Champion Security office, even the sight of our octogenarian receptionist didn’t dim my euphoria.
“Mornin’, Herman,” I called as I sailed past him with my beloved PC tower under one arm and my rabbit carrier in the other. I strode through the large central desk area we called the mosh pit and headed for my office—the big room in the back dominated by a giant wall-mounted screen and the conference table where I conducted briefings—which we called the war room.
After a few more trips back and forth with more gear, I was finally installed back in my happy place.
I let out a deep breath. Home. At last.
I figured most people wouldn’t have felt as deeply about their workspace as I did—after all, I didn’t actually live at the Champion Security office; Elvo and I shared an apartment in an old craftsman down the street. But I’d had a hand in designing every aspect of my war room when Champ had started Champion Security, from the monitors and conference table to the design of my desk. There was more Jasper Huxley in this space than there ever would be in the apartment I was renting.