Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 151864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
My face stretches, my hand sliding from her jaw to the back of her head. And the relief. Oh, the relief. “This morning was bliss,” I murmur.
“Then we had to come to work.”
“I’ve always loved work. At the moment, I hate it.” Obviously, it’s not my job I hate. I’ve just never had to split my energy this way. My passion has always been to create, to inject life into a company needing strong and edgy advertising. And now, that almost seems less . . . engrossing. “I hate knowing you’re nearby and I can’t even look at you without worrying I’ll cause gossip.” I lower my mouth and catch her lips, taking what I’ve been so desperate for all morning.
“Hmmm. You’re doing something about it now, Mr. Christianson.” Her arms come up and circle my shoulders, pulling me in, and I sail away into an oblivion of Lainey. And then the elevator jolts and we’re both brutally pulled from our moment.
I close my eyes to gather patience and quickly move away from her, running a hand through my hair. “Like I said, I fucking hate work.”
She gives me a secret smile as the doors open on the second floor, but there’s no one waiting to board the lift. I step forward and look out, left and right, discovering an empty corridor. “No one,” I mutter, smacking the button for the ground floor. And as soon as the doors are closed again, I’m on her, pushing her into the corner. She goes willingly, her palm resting on my chest. But I don’t kiss her. There are only two floors for the elevator to descend, leaving no time to swallow her up again. I have to say what I need to say while I have her alone. “So you’re busy this weekend,” I state for the sake of it. “What about tonight?”
She takes a deep breath and as she looks into my eyes, she seems to be in conflict, but I’m not completely sure why. “Tonight I’m meeting my sister after work for dinner. I’m out with friends on Saturday, on Sunday I’m visiting a relative, and Monday night I promised Martha I’d go to a fashion show with her.”
“Oh.” She’s a busy little bee.
Lainey shrugs, but looks genuinely disappointed. “I’m sorry, Ty. These things were already organized before . . . well, before last night.”
Sensing true regret, I relent. “Tuesday, then,” I all but grumble. “What do you want to do?” I ask. Her eyebrows jump up, and I roll my eyes. “Before we get naked,” I confirm. Something very strange has happened to me. Something very strange.
I can tell Lainey is thinking similarly, because she looks a little spaced out. I nudge her gently, snapping her from her daydream. “I don’t mind.” She shrugs noncommittally.
My brain kicks in, and I start to think of some amazing date ideas . . . and come up with zilch. I’ll google it. Glancing up at the floor indicator, I see we’ve reached the ground floor, so I wrench myself away. “I’ll make plans,” I tell her.
“You gonna get your mum to cook for me again?”
I shoot her a look, narrowing my eyes. “Funny.”
She laughs and takes the two steps between us, quickly kissing my cheek. She only just pulls away as the doors open, revealing a sea of people waiting to hop on. I stay where I am and watch Lainey dip and weave through the people, and once she’s clear, she turns and starts walking backward, smiling brightly at me. If any one of the people currently joining me in the elevator were to look at me, they’d think I’m a sandwich short of a picnic. My grin is so wide, my face hurts. Then she kisses the tips of her fingers and chucks it my way, before turning and jogging out of the lobby.
I mentally catch that kiss and stuff it away, deep down somewhere safe.
And I hope for many more.
ON MONDAY, I’M BUZZING, BECAUSE I’m one day closer to spending time with Lainey. The weekend was pretty horrendous. I took a pile of work home with me—every project that every team at Christianson Walker is currently working on, just to refresh my memory on each contract. It was an unnecessary task—I know every detail of every deal and pitch happening at my firm—but it was at least a time killer. I was in bed by eleven on Friday. Eleven o’clock, for fuck’s sake. I met a few of the lads for a beer on Saturday, but I spent most of my time distracted by Lainey’s text messages, smiling like a fool. She texted me. She initiated contact. I didn’t hook up with anyone like I usually would on a night out. Instead, I got Chinese and was home by midnight. And, weirdest of all, I was content with that. I dodged calls from various women, and there was no woman in my bed on Sunday morning for me to politely get rid of. I played tennis with Mum, we had dinner, and the sad bastard that I am, I went home and buried my face in the pillow that Lainey’s head lay on and breathed in her lingering scent until it sent me off to sleep. I doubt sleeping pills would have worked any better, but there’s one thing that would have. Yet I have to be patient. I’ll have her back in my bed in no time.