Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Fuck.
11
Raven
The last few days have been a downright whirlwind.
I know I’m qualified for this position, but I’ve never worked at a company like this. It feels like I’ve been thrown into the deep end of a pool without knowing how to swim.
Pandemonium all the time. The new campaign has everyone getting into the office super early and working late. Even now, it’s only a quarter to nine in the morning, but I’ve been here since a little before seven a.m., but others were in even earlier.
Standing from my chair, I stretch my arms up into the air, wringing out my muscles from being slouched in front of my computer for the last two hours.
A yawn escapes my mouth, and I realize just how tired I am.
I need energy, and I need it stat.
Hell, what I need is an IV hooked up to me with a caffeine drip, but seeing as that’s not an option, I go for the next best thing and head toward the breakroom on my floor.
People gather around cubicles, chatting about their projects, and I just need a little silence to clear my head. My heels click on the concrete floor as I walk, and when I make it to my destination, I’m happy to see it’s empty.
The breakroom is large and modern. White walls with black cabinets and concrete slabs for countertops. Industrial feel, but I like the simplicity of it all after working at the computer all morning.
Large canvases designed with an array of splattered paint adorn the walls.
But that’s not the focal point of the room, believe it or not.
Nope, the center of attention is held by a giant state-of-the-art, commercial-grade cappuccino maker that belongs in a restaurant, not in an advertising office.
How I’m ever going to figure this out is beyond me. Where are the directions for this monstrosity?
Letting a curse slip from my mouth, I move until I’m standing directly in front of it, grab a glass mug from where they are sitting beside, and once I’m ready, start to fiddle with the buttons to turn it on.
Nothing happens.
Then I press another one.
And again, nothing.
Why couldn’t it just be those little pods in a machine?
I swear I will cry if I can’t get a cup of coffee.
My lids feel heavy from staring at a computer, and I need a pick-me-up before Mr. Keller realizes how useless I am right now and shouts it to the world. Even though I’m not under him any longer, he is still checking in on my daily progress. Up in my business every time I make a move.
I press another button.
Praying this is the one.
I’m not even trying to get a fancy fucking drink at this point. Right now, I’d settle for an espresso. Hell, I would eat the beans whole, but I need something.
Finally, the machine comes to life and what I can only describe as the sweet nectar of the gods starts to fill my glass.
The robust smell filters in through my nose, and my blood pleasure instantly drops with the awareness that I’ll be able to function again soon.
Once the machine stops, I lift the mug up to my nose to smell. My eyes flutter closed as a moan escapes my lips.
There is nothing better than coffee in the morning. I dare anyone to argue with me.
I’m about to take a sip when I hear a coughing sound.
Or maybe a grumble sounds through the air.
With a jolt, I open my eyes, and when I do, my gaze crashes into Charles watching me from the doorway.
My whole body lurches forward with surprise. Before I know what’s happening, I feel the hot liquid splashing over the edge of the mug and pouring onto my white shirt.
Shit.
Shit.
This is hot! Shit.
Charles rushes forward; his steps echo like a freight train, solidifying my mortification.
He’s beside me in a second.
Pulling the shirt away from my skin, his hands brush over mine to find purchase on the shirt, too. The expresso is cooling, but it takes me a few seconds to realize I’m okay. I’m not hurt.
As my heartbeat slows down to a normal clip, I hear him speak. “Are you okay?” His voice sounds different, deeper. There’s a husky tone that makes me shiver despite the warmth I still can feel from the coffee.
I lift my chin up, and what I’m met with takes my breath away.
Charles watching me.
No. Watching isn’t the right word . . . transfixed.
He doesn’t blink as our gazes lock, and time seems to stand still. I need to look away, but I just can’t break from this man.
Charles Cavendish has his own gravitational pull, and I’m stuck in it.
Seconds pass, and I need to say something, but words feel heavy in my mouth.
He asked me something. Am I okay?
Coughing, I give my head a little shake, lifting the haze away.