Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I lift a brow. “Should I know who you are?” I say with no small amount of attitude.
“Not necessarily. But I aim to change that,” he says slyly.
“If you don’t mind, I just want to be left alone. Thank you.”
“Oh, come on, love. Don’t ruin our first date.”
The waitress stops at our table before I can respond. I shift in my seat uncomfortably. She’s been giving me the eye since I walked in here. I guess ordering a coffee wasn’t enough for her.
“You look like a french fry kind of girl. Bring us a basket of fries to share and I’ll have a chocolate shake. You want one too?” He pauses for a second before continuing without my answer. “Make that two. You know what, I’ll have a platter of the buffalo wings as well. Those looked really good.”
“No problem. Coming right up,” the waitress says with stars in her eyes.
Maybe she knows who this character is supposed to be. The way she’s tripping over herself, you’d think he were royalty or something. I stare at his handsome face. He does look a little familiar now that I’m looking at him.
“You used to work for Carmichael, Pike, and Jeffreys Advertising and Marketing?” he says.
I stiffen and narrow my eyes at him. Blackballing me is one thing. If Tom has sent this guy to harass me, that’s an all-new ball game.
He points to my bag. “Your termination letter was on top of the pile.”
My cheeks heat again. He needs to mind his business, but it’s still embarrassing. I still haven’t wrapped my head around all of this.
“Do you always go around getting into people’s business?” I say.
“No. I just couldn’t stay away from you. What did you use to do there?”
“I don’t know you. I’m not about to tell you my life story.”
“I’m not asking for your life story, gorgeous. Not yet, at least. My name is Bishop. Bishop Love,” he says.
I burst into laughter. He can’t be serious, but as I swipe at my tears, I see he’s very serious. Something about the name tickles the back of my thoughts.
“Your parents named you that?” I ask.
The waitress arrives with a basket of fries and a huge platter of wings. Another waitress is with her. She sets down two tall milkshakes in front of us.
My stomach growls, announcing to the world it’s been hours since I ate a grilled cheese sandwich that did not hit the spot. The fresh-looking fries make my mouth water. I don’t realize I’m looking at them longingly until he pushes the basket toward me.
“Go on, dig in,” he says, popping a fry into his mouth. “And yes, my parents named me Bishop Love Moran. People think it’s just a stage name, but it’s who I’ve been since I was born.”
Suddenly, it clicks. Bishop Love, the singer. He does rock or something like that. I was supposed to put together a proposal for a campaign involving him just before the fiasco.
“What’s a big shot singer like you doing in a dive like this?”
“Ah, so you do know me. I could ask you the same thing, Miss Red Bottoms. Those are some nice shoes for a place like this,” he replies.
“I asked first.”
“I was craving some greasy shit. We pulled into the first place that looked good.” He shrugs.
“My car died,” I say, not knowing why I’m telling him this.
He sits up straighter, concern clear on his face. I tilt my head a bit. He doesn’t know me, but he’s feeding me, and he looks concerned about my transportation.
“Where’s the car?” he asks as he gestures for one of the guys from a few tables over.
“Why?”
“I want to have one of my guys take a look. I’m not going to leave you stranded.”
“Who says I’m stranded?”
“Baby girl, the address on those bills tells me you’re a long way from home. If your car broke down, chances are you’re stranded,” he says.
“I’m not your baby girl.”
He gives me the sexiest crooked smile I’ve ever seen. “Not yet,” he says.
I look at him, really look at him. He’s gorgeous. Those eyes are just the beginning. His lips are full, but his bottom lip is plush, giving him a sinful-looking mouth. He has a soft face with just the right hardness to his jaw to give him a masculine look.
His lashes are extra long and thick. If he were a woman, I’d think they were false. I still question them as I stare at him. His dirty-blond hair is piled on top of his head in a man bun. Something I normally hate, but it looks damn good on him.
His body is a sin of another kind. I’m not even going to linger there. It’s been too long for me to get lost in thoughts of his well-toned, chiseled body. If I go there, I might climb across this table.