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)
“Hey, Juni,” Beau’s smooth voice greets, startling me so hard I bang my knee against the cabinet in front of me, trying to stand up.
“Ow,” I groan, grabbing at the joint and biting my lip so hard it almost pops. A million trashy words run through my mind as I try to subdue the blinding pain and embarrassment, but Beau does me the favor of saying one aloud.
“Fuck, June, are you okay?”
I nod manically to shake it off. “Oh yeah. Yeah, yeah. Totally fine.”
“Are you sure? Let me see it,” Beau insists, hunching over toward my black pencil skirt to take a look.
Hah. No. One touch from Beau on my bare leg and the only work I’ll be doing today will be done remotely, from the clouds.
“I’m fine. Really.” I tap his shoulder to stand him up again and smile through the burn. “Clumsy, but fine. I just didn’t get as much sleep as I should have last night.”
His barely there dimple sinks into his cheek as he leans his ass against the kitchenette counter and crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Avery have you out at the club again?”
“Nope.” I shake my head, take my now coffee-filled mug from the Keurig, and try to concentrate on adding some sugar and cream to it. You’d think it’d be an easy task, but nothing is easy for me when Beau Banks is around. Not to mention, my knee still stings like a son of a bitch. “I was in bed early, just couldn’t seem to fall asleep.”
His brows draw together, forming a tiny wrinkle at the top of his straight nose. “Oh, man. I didn’t hear anyone over there at all. I guess the walls are pretty soundproof.”
He chuckles and I swallow hard. It’s hard to hear someone you don’t even know exists half the time. Funnily enough, I heard every freaking move he made. I swear, if I’d let myself listen any closer, I’d probably know his bladder’s schedule.
I take a sip of my freshly made coffee and recoil immediately. Good grief. How many freaking sugars did I put in this thing?
“Still not a huge fan of coffee, huh?” Beau asks as I rub at my now-watering eyes.
“What?”
“During the Summer No-Sleepathon,” he explains with the kind of handsome smile that has the power to make me lose brain cells. “Avery made you do it that time my parents were out of town when you were, what…fifteen?”
“Fourteen,” I correct, the memory catapulting over me like an avalanche.
The summer after Avery’s and my freshman year of high school, Neil and Diane went out of town. For the first time ever, instead of getting an official sitter, Beau was in charge of watching us since he was home from college. He had Bethany and Henry and Seth and some of his other friends over to surf and hang out, and Avery and I clung to the lot of them like a couple of groupies. For some reason, she got it in her head that we shouldn’t sleep at all, so we wouldn’t miss even a minute of our newfound independence. When things got really dire, she started force-feeding me coffee at a criminal pace.
Adult Juniper likes coffee just fine—enjoys it, actually—but letting Beau think I’m still coffee averse is way less embarrassing than admitting I’m so distracted by every freaking facet of his being that I can’t even fix it right.
Instead of correcting him, I smile. “I had no idea adulthood would feel so similar to a no-sleep challenge from childhood.”
“Yeah.” Beau snorts. “Just wait a few years. I was up until almost one a.m. trying to figure out the inner workings of the Midnight app.”
Sadly, I already knew this information. I can literally hear him through my bedroom wall. I’d say it’s borderline stalker behavior, but it’s hard to be a stalker from your own bedroom, you know? Like, I’m not actually trying to listen to him. At least, not that closely.
A small laugh escapes my lips—half embarrassed that I know too much and the fact that I think Beau’s hilarious. And smart. And sexy. And funny. And perfect. Even though it’s always a dangerous move, I let myself meet the soft, warm, ooey, gooey chocolate-chip-cookie depths of his eyes. “I guess the older you get, the harder technology—”
“Beau,” a voice calls from the door of the break room, robbing me of the opportunity to linger in his beautiful gaze and handsome smile or finish my sentence. His assistant Natalie is leaning around the doorjamb, urgency in her smile. “Golfate Capital is waiting on a call for you.”
“Right,” Beau says, shoving away from the counter and dismissing himself with a wave. I watch as he leaves, long enough to study his firm ass until it’s fully out the door, and then dump the truly offensive cup of coffee down the drain. I load the mug in the break room dishwasher, scoop up the file Neil gave me fifteen minutes ago, and walk into the hallway. I have a million copies to make, and stopping for a cup of coffee wasn’t supposed to take more than a minute or two.