Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I turn away from Hudson and smile at my seatmate. He has to be in his early thirties, but he’s still hanging on to a perpetual baby face, ruddy cheeks and all. “Oh…fine, I suppose. How long have you been here?”
His brows shoot up when he realizes the answer. “Eight years.”
“Was your first year rough?”
He laughs as he remembers it. “It was the hardest year of my life. I gained like ten pounds and broke up with my girlfriend and nearly got fired a few times.”
“But you survived,” I point out with a supportive smile.
He nods and smooths his hand down his tie. “And you will too.”
His encouragement makes me feel a little lighter right up until Hudson takes charge of the meeting, and for the better part of an hour, I’m forced to listen to his discussions with our client. Everyone in the room is furiously taking notes, and I do the same. Even in the current circumstances, the acquisition sounds exciting, and I won’t slack off. I have to separate my work from my real life.
I wish I could avoid Hudson altogether, but he’s the one talking, the one in charge. It’d be weird if I kept my head down the whole time, so I brace myself then peer down the conference table. Getting to look at him for so long, uninterrupted, makes me elated and enraged all at once. It would be satisfying to find him tired and pale, a shadow of his usual self. But he’s so healthy-looking, robust and strong, like he could withstand anything. In certain moments, when his jaw tics or his hand brushes his lips absentmindedly—despite trying my hardest not to—I can’t help but recall blips of Saturday night, fleeting memories that carry so much emotion with them. Each one makes me wince and fidget in my chair.
Like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, Hudson meets my gaze on one such occasion. He looks so frustrated now, but I know what he looks like when he’s drugged with lust, soothed and sensual. I know how those lips turn up at the sides in moments of joy, how that mouth feels between my legs.
I blink and look away, ashamed of my dirty thoughts. I was doing so well until now. It’s Hudson’s fault.
Thankfully, the call with McNealand doesn’t last much longer, and I shoot to my feet the moment Hudson dismisses us. Nathan is saying something, asking me a question, but I don’t hear it because Hudson has just called my name.
“Scarlett.”
It slices through the air and lands like an arrow in my heart.
There’s no reason he would need to talk to me, no reason to call me out in front of everyone. But I can’t ignore him. That would look even more strange, so I steel myself with a deep breath, nod goodbye to Nathan, retrieve my laptop, and head down toward Hudson’s end of the conference table.
He’s finishing up a conversation with Bethany. It’s clear I’m meant to wait in the background like a servant until he’s good and ready to talk to me. I decide the flowers in my office are getting shredded no matter who sent them, just on the off chance it was him.
Bethany walks away, and Hudson turns to look at me.
The air whooshes out of me. I can’t stand the effect he has on me. It’s too much power for one person. Does he realize?
His expression has cooled. Not that it matters—I have enough anger in me for the two of us.
“The flowers. Were they from you?”
He looks to the door, confirming we’re alone.
There’s a glass wall on the hallway-facing side of the conference room, so even though the door is shut, people can look in and see us. I’m glad we’re not behind an opaque wall. It’s better if we have to behave like we’re in public.
“It’s the start of an apology,” he confirms. “I owe you flowers and more.”
I narrow my eyes, wanting to be crystal clear. “For sleeping with me even though I asked you to?”
His mouth tightens into a disapproving line. His gaze rakes over me, not lasciviously but with reverent care, like he’s looking for physical signs of distress. He won’t find any. I’m practically dressed in armor. I’ve picked my blackest dress—the one I feel most powerful in.
“I need to apologize for taking advantage of a situation. I should have never gone to your apartment.”
My breakfast turns sour in my stomach. I don’t want to hear any of this. “Right. Well, good talk.”
I’m about to turn and leave, but then he stops me dead in my tracks when he says, “I need you to hold up your end of the bargain.”
Excuse me, sir?
A caustic laugh bubbles out of me. “Hold up my end of the bargain? Be glad I haven’t mowed you down with my car.”