Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120189 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Because my mind is too busy screaming: Holy fucking shit.
How is it that, in a city of over two million people, I happen to hook up with the one cute boy at the nightclub who happens to be a newly hired intern of mine?
I have a higher chance of being struck by lightning. Twice.
Which is exactly how I feel right now, by the way. I can’t move. I can’t even blink, my eyelids stuck open and my fingers tingling with anticipation. What do I do? Do I act totally normal? Do I go about my day pretending like there isn’t some kid out there who I just opened up my soul to—as well as my pants? I brought him to my home. He half met my dog.
There’s a knock on the door, which I feel through the three loud raps at my back. “Mr. Gage?” comes Rebekah’s voice.
I grab hold of my worries, stuff them down, then turn around and pull open the door. “Rebekah.”
“Raymond’s wife is in labor,” she tells me right away, “and Emilio is still in the city taking pictures. So we have the option of a meeting without them, or I pull—”
“Replacements,” I state, answering her before she’s asked the question. “Notes will be taken and forwarded to both of them. We need to handle the Jersey kid, and now.”
“Got it. I’ll get stand-ins for Raymond and Emilio. Your team will be in the conference room in five, as requested. And don’t forget about Benson’s lawyers at four.”
She’s gone as quickly as she’d come, and I shut myself in the darkness once again, eyes closed, my breathing strictly controlled. With a sudden lift of my chin, I decide to dismiss my worries about Trevor. Besides, judging from the look in his eyes, he’s probably as freaked out as I am.
Except I’m not freaked out.
I have everything under control.
I put myself at my computer and start to sift through all the email. Twice, I accidentally delete a message I mean to file away, cursing myself as I fish them out of the trash folder. I see a subject line with the word “Texas” in it and all I read is “sexy”. Then there is an email with the phrase “acute warning” and my eyes tell me I’m reading “a cute warm boy”. I’m seeing the word “blond” where it doesn’t belong, and “boner”, and “tight firm ass”.
An email titled “Re: on-the-clock” becomes “Re: on-my-cock.”
In the five minutes I gave myself, I get absolutely nothing done on account of my horribly perverted mind.
And it’s all that damned intern’s fault.
Or is it? Is it my fault for succumbing to the emptiness in my soul Friday night when I decided to hit the town for the first time in ages? Maybe if I had been stronger and chose to stay home with Lance and binge Netflix while catching up on emails, I wouldn’t be caught in this situation.
I whip off my blazer and fling it over the back of my chair. I’m working up a sweat thinking about all of this.
But if Trevor and I didn’t hook up Friday night and I was meeting him for the first time today, would I still have the same reaction? Would I see him among my crop of new employees this summer and think: That one stands out. That one is curious, driven, and focused. That one has something special about him …
I shouldn’t worry. The interns never meddle much directly in my affairs in the office anyway. Rebekah keeps them occupied with organizing files, running errands, taking calls … busywork, more or less. I decided years ago that my summer internship program would be a way to “share the wealth” of my company, bringing new, bright faces in every summer from all the local universities so they can work in a real office, gain experience, and get to jot my name down on their little résumés when they go off into the big world. Sometimes, I even take a few of them under my wing when there’s a big enough client who needs extra attention.
Yeah. Sometimes I’m a really hands-on kind of boss.
But I never let the interns get close—and certainly not as close as I let Trevor Friday night.
Friday night …
Wait a second. Trevor worked in the office for a whole week before we met, right? And he was chosen months ago after all of the interviews. He’s known about me all this time.
Doesn’t that mean he already knew what I look like?
Does that mean he knew who I was at the club?
I drop back into my chair, staring at the wall in a stupor. Was this all just an elaborate plan of Trevor’s? Did he know who I was at the nightclub, targeted me, then went home with me in hopes of gaining some advantage here in the office?