Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Wow.
And here I thought Maggot was just a big anal jerk about his drinks like he’s a big anal jerk about everything else.
I lean up and hand Armstrong his drink.
He lets me use his company card to buy the cat food too, which is nice, because I probably couldn’t afford it either with my sad balance. In another week, I’ll be sitting pretty when the last payment from my old job shows up and the first deposit from this one hits, but for now, I’m effectively broke.
At the office, I set down the drinks and stack the cat food neatly on Maggot’s desk, hang his dry cleaning in his closet, place the new shoebox on the floor under the garment bag, and return to my workspace outside his office.
It’s almost a little like having my own office, which makes the hell hours into the night ever so slightly more tolerable. There are walls on two sides and my desk sits far enough away from the main hall so no one can bother me without making an effort.
But there’s also no way into his office without passing me.
How fun. I’ve gone from being an entry-level employee to a freaking gatekeeper.
When I check his inbox again, my gut pinches.
Even though I almost cleaned it out last night, he has another eight hundred messages waiting. I open his email, delete spam, respond to what I can, and start flagging urgent stuff.
He passes my desk without speaking to me a little while later. Probably for the best. Nothing he says is pleasant.
Ten minutes later, my messenger pings.
Magnus: Come to my office. Now.
Seriously? He can’t just open the door and talk to me like a normal person?
Sighing, I stomp over and tap on the door.
“Get in!”
Get in? What the actual hell? Is that even a command for entering a room?
I step inside his office, trying not to cringe. If I treat him like a wolf and show no fear, maybe I’ll survive this.
“Over here, Miss Bristol,” he says, his eyes never meeting mine.
Dude. Can’t you just tell me what you want?
A second later, I stand beside his desk, wondering what I’m in for.
He waves a hand in front of the items I placed there at five twenty this morning.
“What’s all this?”
“Your coffee and cat food,” I answer, feeling like there’s a trick question coming. “Everything you asked for...isn’t it?”
“Very well.”
“You’re welcome?” I venture, suspicious because it feels like there’s going to be a but.
And I’m right.
A second later, he says, “Do you think next time you could place the coffee away from this pet food?”
I stare at him, mouth slightly open.
Oh my God. Is he effing for real?
The cat food is tucked away in airtight, sealed cans.
But since I can’t afford to lose two hundred thousand dollars a year, I nod. “Yes, Mr. Heron. I’ll try. Sorry for the disappointment.”
“Are you sure?” He tilts his head at me. “Your lips say one thing, but your eyes say another.”
Guilty. I’m sure they say, You’re a ginormous moron.
My face always gives me away.
Somehow, I nod again, forcing a neutral smile.
“I’ll see to it that your coffee gets placed safely away from any objects pertaining to pets in the future. Also, I’ve forwarded you all the emails I couldn’t respond to last night, and if you don’t need anything else, I’ll return to work now.”
I smile and then, for added effect, I curtsy.
He does a double take, a faint lash of something like amusement cutting through those deadly blue eyes.
“What the hell was that?” he asks.
“It was just a—”
“Never do it again.”
“Um, okay.” I give him my best mock-innocent smile.
Innocence is a hard feat around this man. Aside from being an absolute jackass, he’s—okay, he’s divine. Undeniably delicious.
Like Sweeter Grind cinnamon latte delicious.
I can’t deny what’s right in front of me, plain as day.
A horrible part of my brain I wish I didn’t have would love to taste him. Right alongside a billion other women who’d die for the chance, I’m sure.
Of course, he’s an egomaniac and also my boss. So there’ll be no forbidden man-fruit tasting. Not today or ever.
“I take it you gave Armstrong his coffee too?” He ignores my request to be dismissed.
“Yes, sir.”
“I had you order three for a reason.” He picks up the cup with “C & S” written down the side and hands it to me. “I thought I should make up for your wasted drink last week.”
I smile and put the cup to my lips. The cinnamon infused brew smells heavenly and warm liquid pours down my throat, temporarily taking me away to a place where guys are as nice as they look.
“Thanks,” I tell him. “But how did you know I take cinnamon in my coffee?”
“You used the words cinnamon latte right before you spit on me. Also...the stench lingered.”
Against my better judgment, I smile.