Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 59044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
“I can,” I said. How hard was it to pack a few bags?
“Then my secretary will have all your paperwork waiting for you, as well as Scarlet’s address, elevator and room keys, a credit card for your expenses, and information regarding her driver.”
“Sounds good,” I agreed, accepting his hand shake.
“I have a good feeling about you, Julian. I think you might be the only man in the world capable of taming my Scarlet.”
I had no idea at the time just how right he would be about that.
Or what lengths I would need to go to to accomplish that goal.
CHAPTER TWO
Scarlet
There was an incessant buzzing noise that had a grumble escaping me as I rolled over in bed.
“Ugh. Shut up,” I grumbled to myself, not placing the sound as it stopped, then continued again.
The sun was screaming in my bedroom, making me squeeze my eyes shut as soon as I attempted to open them.
In retrospect, those last two shots of tequila had not been a great idea.
It had been a bachelorette party. It wasn’t like I could say no.
“What?” I barked as the noise stopped and began again.
I’d been louder than I’d intended, making my dog let out a little yip of objection.
“You probably need to go potty,” I said to him without opening my eyes.
Hugh let out another yip that had me folding up in bed, arms going high up over my head.
My mascara was sticking together, desperately trying to keep my eyes closed. But after a few blinks, I looked over at Hugh, sitting there in all of his three-pound glory, his gorgeous merle fur still perfect after rolling around in bed for hours.
I was sure I was not so lucky.
“Okay. Come on, buddy,” I said as I swung my legs off of the bed.
Hugh made a mad dash for his steps, flying down them with a speed he shouldn’t have been capable of with his tiny legs.
I caught a look at myself in the mirror as I moved out of my bedroom and into the common space.
I’d been right.
I was not as lucky as Hugh.
I looked like I’d had one too many tequila shots.
My pink silk sleep mask was up on my forehead, making my dark brown hair push up as well. The rest of it was all tangled.
My black liner and mascara were smeared under my eyes and what was left of my red lipstick was a violent slash across my cheek.
As I let Hugh out onto the patio with his specially designed little potty spot full of wood mulch, I lifted my ever-present phone, zooming in on my smeared lipstick, and taking a picture.
I posted it to my story.
No smear, twenty-four-hour wear, my ass. What gives @LaurieLoreCosmetics
By the time I finished posting, the damn noise started up again.
And I was finally awake enough to recognize it for what it was.
The intercom.
Someone wanted to be let up.
Had I ordered food before I passed out?
Or have an appointment? A massage? Nails?
I had no idea.
I marched over to unlock the elevator then made my way over to the kitchen, turning on my espresso machine.
I was still tamping down the grounds into the portafilter when my door slid open.
When no one greeted me, I turned to look over my shoulder to see who’d come in.
“I don’t know you,” I said, slipping the portafilter into place, then turning on the machine.
“And yet you let me in,” he said.
That was a sexy voice.
All deep and smooth.
It was the kind of voice that shivered over you.
My gaze looked over him with more interest.
And, yeah, the rest of him went with that voice.
Sexy as all hell.
He had to be around six-three or four with wide shoulders under his navy suit—decent quality, but definitely not designer. I bet if you peeled those clothes layers off of him, you would find corded muscle and washboard abs.
As for the face, well, it belonged on billboards.
Chiseled jaw, a stern brow, etched cheekbone hollows, and these deep, dark brown eyes surrounded by the kind of thick lashes I had to pay for.
“Who are you?” I asked as the smell of espresso filled the open space.
“It’s freezing in here,” he said instead of answering, his gaze moving over toward where the door to the balcony was open.
“My dog is out there,” I objected when he walked over there to close the door.
“Your dog, if you can call it that, is on the couch,” he corrected me.
“Oh, Hugh, do you want munchies?” I called, watching him fly off the couch and rush toward me, doing his little dance in a circle as I pulled one of the bags of his prepared fresh food out of the fridge, emptied it onto a plate, warmed it, then set it on the floor for him.
“There is a strange man standing in your home, and you’re not concerned.”