Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Kyla bursts into laughter, exposing to me the unfortunate sight of her partially chewed food.
And this uncouth, smart-mouthed, blood-stealer—the nickname we gave her profession—is as much family to me as my own dad is. We’ve known each other since my first week starting with the company. What began with us randomly chatting in line while waiting for coffee at five in the morning—the one time of day you think you wouldn’t be waiting in fucking line—spiraled into a friendship that’s lasted over a decade. While there have been job changes—primarily just her—and new apartments—mainly just me—and boyfriend flubs—who doesn’t struggle with this in their 20s?—throughout it all we’ve had one another’s back.
There isn’t anything I don’t trust her to know, and once I figure out how to explain The Fog and Sleepers and Awakers and dragons and unicorn shifters—which was what the male who demoed me that ax I ended up buying yesterday was—without sounding like she should commit me in a cell next to The Joker’s, I absolutely will.
Unlike my parents who had an ass load of secrets from me, I won’t be keeping them from her.
All of a sudden, a knock on my office door interrupts what I’m sure was going to grow into a terrible Agent Maria Hill impersonation from the woman who Snap Chatted herself reading Avengers comics all weekend.
Normally, I would’ve done the same after the type of week I had but going out and spending quality time with Ptur was infinitely better.
“Come in,” I warmly call out while Kyla does her best to regain her composure.
Ptur’s cut, scruff covered face curls around the very edge of the blockade he’s gripping. “Am I interrupting, Miss Pennington?”
“Yes,” my best friend retorts in tandem with my answering the opposite. After being shot a scolding stare, she politely states, “I was kidding!” Her eyes latch onto mine as she mouths, “I wasn’t.”
“I just wanted to come by and see how lunch was.” He shuts the door behind him prior to entering the peculiarly long office space I’m occupying for some unknown amount of time. “Was everything,” his body casually dips down to fix a stack of coffee table books during his stroll by, “to your liking, Miss Pennington?”
“Very.”
The grin he’s offered from me seems to straighten out his entire spine and tip his chin slightly higher upon his arrival beside my wooden desk. “Good. My job is to please you.”
It’s impossible not to smirk at the phrasing which prompts him to try to correct it.
“I meant…my job is to keep you pleased.”
Wincing at the continued inappropriate phrasing for the office is done at the same time I fold my hands in my cream-colored pants suit covered lap.
“Uh…keep you…,” his hands find their way into his gray pant suit pockets, “er…satisfied?” Catching it before I can make any sort of reaction, he grumps, “Content. I meant content. My job is to keep you content during your time at this branch, Miss Pennington.”
“Smooth…” Kyla overly dramatically winks at him. “No one else will ever suspect you’re dating.”
Ptur’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Is it that obvious?”
“Putting aside the fact you keep giving her Captain America eyes,” my best friend teases on a wide grin, “your speech gives the shit away.” She turns her attention my direction, “However, you, are not giving away a goddamn thing, which is one of the reasons I refuse to play poker with you anymore.”
A casual shrug bounces my jacketless shoulders. “It’s a skill.”
“It’s a fucking HR superpower.”
“Kyla Herrera,” a wave of the hand accompanies the introduction, “Ptur Draak. Ptur Draak, Kyla Herrera.”
“The bestie,” she crowns herself on a tiny wave.
He presents her with a polite nod. “The mate.”
“So, you are Australian?”
His face twitches at the question, but rather than reply to it, he grouses, “What is that awful smell?”
“Brussels sprouts?” Kyla offers an answer. “Sure, the parmesan on top helps, but it’s not a cure all.”
Her sass receives another snicker from me yet doesn’t deter Ptur from his fixation. “No.”
“Can’t be the meat,” I promptly insist. “This is some of the highest quality beef there is.”
“It’s not that, either.” He sharply inhales again. Flares his nostrils wider. Briefly shuts his eyes and sucks in huge hunk of air for a third time. “It’s…rot.” When his lids lift, the platinum color I know means his dragon side is on alert momentarily flashes. “Internal rot.”
“Like a dead animal in the walls?” Horror hops into my expression. “Did you not have this office cleaned prior to my occupancy? Do you have any idea how many basic work environment standards that violates? Do you just want a lawsuit?”
Ptur slowly shakes his head while quietly informing, “Not that type of decay, Pint-Size.”
Confusion causes me to swiftly ask, “There’s more than one type?”
His gaze guides itself away from mine to where my best friend who has always been fairly pale skinned appears now to practically be see-through. “You.” He jabs an accusatory finger her direction. “You’re the smell.”