Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Is it just me or does it feel like there’s way more to this story?
I look out toward the patio, where Beau stands talking to his dad, and when he glances over his shoulder to meet my eyes, I smile and blow him a little kiss.
He pretends to snag it from the air, and when Avery catches on to the whole cheesy scene, she pretends to gag.
“Gross.”
“You know, Ave, one day, when you’re blowing kisses to your future husband, I’m going to remind you of this moment.”
She just rolls her eyes, but I swear, as they make the circuit from the ceiling and back to the floor, they stop on Henry for a hot second.
Is my best friend secretly in love with her brother’s best friend?
Boy, wouldn’t that be something.
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THE END
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THE BILLIONAIRE BOSS NEXT DOOR
Greer
Nerves jump up and down in my stomach like a million chaotic bouncy balls set to work by a bunch of manic kids. I am freaking the fuck out.
The green-eyed, good-bodied, trash-talker from the gym is my boss.
As in, in charge of me at work.
As in, signs my paychecks.
As in, he is the only thing standing between me and a new job at the Stop and Pop gas station where I will have to drown my life’s failures in cheap beer, cigarettes, and cheesy curls.
I don’t even smoke, never even let a cigarette touch my lips, but from where I stand, a life filled with dirty ashtrays and cheese-stained fingertips is a strong contender for my future.
Holy bitchtits. This is bad.
And like a spoiled high schooler who actually has parents who pay for all of their stuff—like a woman who doesn’t have everything on the line—I gave him attitude. I talked back. I dug my fingernails into his hand when he shook it.
What the hell is wrong with me?
My breathing kicks up a notch, and I glance around the conference room to see if anyone has noticed how close I am to hyperventilating. After my altercation with his son and with my heart beating a million miles a minute, Trent Senior led the way down the hall and into this room. I’m sure employees made eye contact with me, but the only thing I could see was my career going up in flames.
Five people other than me circle the large marble table in the center of the room, not a single one of them a woman.
I’m the only hen at this cock party, and that spurs my anxiety further.
The reality of what I’m up against crashes down on me all over again, and my breathing breaks down into uncoordinated gulps.
I study the faces around me, but they’re all ensconced in their own conversations and unconcerned with me.
Desperate for a lifeline, I scour the refreshment cart in the corner, but there’s not one paper bag for hyperventilation purposes in sight. I can only hope I weather this storm on my own.
Breathing may sound instinctive, but I wouldn’t put it past myself to forget to do it. And I do not want to be known as the woman who passed out on her first day for the rest of my employment with Turner Properties.
In a room full of men, I refuse to be the fainting to the floor, fucking damsel in distress.
Especially not when one of those men is that rude, bastard prick from the gym.
Trent Turner. Well, Trent Turner Junior, I guess is his full name.
If I weren’t so amped up on anxiety and dread, I might take the time to laugh silently at the fact that his full name includes Junior. Like he’s a little boy. A fucking kid.
Unfortunately for me, his tight muscles and sexy jawline and piercing green eyes are the exact opposite of what a boy should look like.
No sirree Bob, he is all man, Greer. All-fucking-man.