Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
I look at the clock again and then back at Sandra. If we’re late to dinner I can roll with it. It’s Sawyer’s birthday. I’m sure whatever he’s doing is important.
“So.” I grin at her, eyebrow raised. “New Year’s Eve?” I leave the question hanging in the air for a minute. “You got home okay?” I prod when she doesn’t answer.
Sandra flushes and nods, not meeting my eyes. “I did,” she admits.
“That’s it? That’s all I get?” I ask, laughing.
“I, um…” She taps her mouse, bringing her computer to life, and clears her throat. “Thank you,” she finally offers, then swivels in her chair to face me and says, “I got home very well.” Then she grins, bites her lip and swivels back to her computer screen.
Sawyer walks in then, firing off directions to a well-dressed woman in her forties walking beside him. He’s almost rude, his voice sharper than I’m used to hearing from him. He says something about seventy-two hours and not a moment longer while she nods with a, “Yes, Mr. Camden.”
He notices me then, leaning on Sandra’s desk located outside of his office, and surprise flashes in his eyes the second before he recovers and stops short, clearly remembering just now that we have plans. That it’s his birthday.
“That’ll be all, Marlene,” he says, dismissing the woman without even looking at her. “I’ll expect an update from you with the test results in the morning. Sandra will see you out.”
The woman doesn’t appear bothered in the least at the abrupt dismissal. She smiles kindly at Sandra, who has popped up and collected her coat from the closet outside of Sawyer’s office. So she’s not an employee, whoever she is.
I follow Sawyer into his office and pause, unsure what to do, when he drops into the chair behind his desk, the view of downtown Philadelphia to his left. He drops his forehead into his hands, elbows bent on the desk in front of him. He sighs, rubbing his face with his hands, and I stand, hesitant. I’ve never seen him this stressed out.
“Sawyer?” I ask, tentatively, and his head snaps up. He drags his hands though his hair then smiles, some of the tension leaving his body.
“We have dinner plans,” he states, motioning with his hand for me to come closer.
“For your birthday,” I remind him, closing the distance between us. I slide between him and the desk and hop up to sit on the surface, resting my hands on his shoulders. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He rests his hands on my thighs, but it feels like an expression of comfort as opposed to copping a feel.
“You still want to go?” I ask, massaging his shoulders. “I was gonna spend the night after. Give you your birthday present.”
“Were you?” He grins, that dimple I love so much flashing on his left cheek.
“Yes.” I nod, face serious. “It’s too dirty to give to you at the restaurant. So it’ll have to wait until after dinner,” I whisper in his ear.
“I like the sound of that.”
“Good.”
I’m glad he’s perking up. I got waxed today, I’d hate to waste it.
And my nails. I’ve painted them Porn-A-Thon peach. Toes too. You think I’m kidding? I spent an hour looking at nail polish names online before finding this one. Then I had to make a special trip to a department store to buy it.
But it’s worth it to make Sawyer’s birthday perfect.
“We should go,” he comments, glancing at his watch.
I slide off his desk and stand. I’m wearing a navy jersey dress and it hugs my figure in all the right places. Sawyer finally takes notice of that when I’m on my feet and my chest is in his face.
“Or we could skip dinner,” he throws out, placing his hands on my hips, his palms warm through the fabric.
“You know I’d normally take you up on that offer, but I’m guessing you skipped lunch today by the way it looks like your day went.”
Something flashes in his eyes and I want to kick myself for bringing it up, but it’s replaced by an easy smile a second later.
“You’re right,” he says, standing. I trail behind him to the coat closet in his office.
“Besides, you’ll need your strength for later, tiger.” I slap his ass as he’s reaching into the closet to grab our coats, his back to me.
He’s still for a moment, my view of his face blocked by the closet door. The door slowly closes, the hinge creaking in the otherwise silent office.
“Are you serious with that behavior?” he asks, head cocked to the side, expression neutral.
“Yup.” I nod immediately and shrug my shoulders. I was serious, what else can I say?
He holds the impassive facial expression for another few seconds, his lips trembling by the end. Then he laughs and pulls me in for a kiss.