Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
I let out a slow breath. “When do I start?”
“As soon as possible. I’ll send you a non-disclosure agreement, then I’ll tell you my address so we can hammer out the details.”
The idea of setting foot inside Gavin Brawley’s home was both exciting and disturbing. Would there be solid-gold bannisters? Hot-tubs full of champagne? An array of swimsuit models lounging by the pool?
“When should I expect it?”
“I’ll have it sent over within the hour.”
The line went dead.
I slid my phone into my pocket. A mixture of hope and fear had my hands shaking.
What if I did the probationary period and screwed it up? Being that close to an opportunity this good, and failing, would result in me having absolutely no way to help myself or my father. And despite Gavin’s willingness to give me a second chance, I had a feeling he wasn’t planning to make my probation easy.
Chapter Three
Noah
Gavin Brawley’s mansion was too gorgeous to be real.
It was in Westhampton on Dune Road, and steps away from the Atlantic Ocean. The guy had his own private beach area. It was incredible, and I wandered the place in a state of disbelief.
The house itself was an architectural masterpiece. It was three floors with balconied walkways overlooking the lower levels, terraced rooftops, and horizontal windows with panoramic views of the ocean.
The inside was enormous, and so far I’d only gotten a quick glance at the lower level. The kitchen looked like it belonged in a restaurant, and there was a room that should have been a massive library if it weren’t for the empty shelves, an office, and what appeared to be two living rooms. Did rich people call them living rooms? I had no idea, but they both had fireplaces and sofas, although only one had a wall-sized television.
I was doing a good job of not gaping until Gavin led me to a sunken patio larger than it had any right to be. It was like being poolside at a resort.
“Wow,” I said in a low breath. “You live here alone?”
Gavin sat down in one of the patio chairs. It was dwarfed by his muscular body, but he didn’t seem to mind. He looked relaxed and comfortable in sweatpants rolled up over his ankle monitor and a tight T-shirt that showed every hard line of his pecs and biceps. His golden eyes were as intense as always.
“Yeah. It’s the only place I can go without permission.”
I looked around again, squinting through the line of trees around the property to see his neighbors. “This place is extreme. I can’t believe you have so much space.”
Gavin stared at me, saying nothing.
“Do you talk to your neighbors at all?”
“No.”
“Did you just move here?”
“No.”
Why was this like pulling teeth? I grasped at small-talk straws, but Gavin was more unnerving than he’d been last time. He maintained direct eye contact, barely blinked, and spoke in curt monosyllables. Well, unless he was defending the sacred art of football.
“Oh. It seems pretty empty.” Where the hell had he grown up again? I wracked my brain for the information I’d dug up online the night before. “Do you like Long Island better than New Jersey?”
“I hate them equally.”
Did Gavin Brawley not hate other things? It was a mystery.
“Are you remodeling?”
A glimmer of annoyance crossed Gavin’s face. “You’re the fourth person to comment on my interior design in the past week. Why does it matter?”
“Because it looks like you’re squatting in an empty mansion.” I winced. “Sorry. I’m not usually this sarcastic when talking to potential employers.”
“You should probably work on that. My fuse is short and burns fast.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Gavin pointed at me. “You did it again.”
“What?”
“Were a smartass.”
I spread my hands. “I don’t know what to say. I really want this job, but ever since that first interview . . . I don’t know. We got off on the wrong foot and I can’t seem to steady myself.” Because of your jerk manager.
Gavin sat back in his chair and propped his elbows on the arms. “Have you changed your mind about what I do for a living?”
“Not really. I’m not into sports.”
“Then we’ll always be on the wrong foot. Luckily, I don’t care about your opinions. If this goes according to plan, we will never talk to each other about anything other than what I want you to do for me.”
My thoughts zoomed to the dirtiest places imaginable.
Gavin Brawley was one of the most unlikeable people I’d ever met, and yet my brain had no problems conjuring images of us naked, sweating, and doing the unmentionable.
Fingers snapped in front of my face, and I blinked my way back to the real world. The one where Gavin’s mouth was tight and impatience exuded from every aspect of his body language.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I want you to tell me why you want to work for someone you don’t respect.”