Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
But he missed out on all of my fabulousness and chose to only acknowledge the bad things—like me breaking into his apartment and putting a bag of dog shit on his counter. So the only thing Jake Swagger might do for me is send his lawyer down here to press charges. He’d make sure I lived out my final moments with Big Bertha who will no doubt sit on me and breathe in my face until I die a slow, agonizing death.
I’m on my third cup of coffee. I have no clue where in the hell the cop is. The clock on the wall says he’s been gone for over half an hour. I could probably just sneak out the door without anyone noticing—if I wasn’t wearing a ridiculous top hat that has earned me a bunch of funny looks from everyone in the office.
Thanks a lot, Alfred.
I stare at the card in my hand, contemplating calling the cell number listed on the back. Jake’s cell number. I could hear his voice. Maybe apologize. Or I could just wait until I get home and drunk dial him. If I make it home.
Think Penelope!
Emily.
Emily knows people in Chicago. Right? She interned here. Surely she made a friend or three other than Luke Duchanan. Perhaps she could call one of them and get them to come pick me up. Then I could get my mom to wire me some cash to get home. I know she doesn’t have it to spare, but she’ll no doubt make it happen. And I can sell body to some desperate man to pay her back. Or my soul to the Devil. Or my imminent fame to the Illuminati.
“Penelope?”
I look up at the man standing over me. And just…stare. He’s like, That Guy’s hot best friend. The one who wears the smirk. Has the playful attitude. The sexy look. The one you’re hoping the heroine’s best friend will hook up with so there will be a book two.
My eyes roll at my stupid writer brain. “Yes?”
He scans me from my top hat to my dirty boots, studies the card in my hand a moment and then meets my gaze. He lifts a brow. “You’re Penelope?” I’m not sure if that’s amusement or skepticism. I get them confused.
“Yep. And you must be Captain Obvious.”
He laughs and reaches for a bottle of water next to the coffee pot. With his back to me, I give him a full body scan.
Nice ass. Nice build. Big feet. Friendly. Charming. Seems like the kind of guy you could have a good time with. Yet there’s something off about him. He wears a gun but not a badge. A suit and not a uniform. A detective? But his suit is really nice. Fitted. Not the cheap twill that most detectives wear. And he doesn’t have a gut. Or tired, worried lines around his face.
“I can pull it out and let you look at it.” I jerk my eyes from his crotch to his smiling face. I was looking at his ass. He turned around. Not my fault.
“Sorry, I don’t have my reading glasses.”
I’m treated to another throaty, sexy laugh of his. If I wasn’t so hooked on the vision of my That Guy, I’d use this hunk for my muse.
“Touché, Miss Hart. You ready to get out of here?”
“Who are you?”
He grins and sticks his hand out. I shake it. Of course it’s warm and strong and all the wonderful things masculine hands are supposed to be. “Cam Favre.”
“Detective? Officer? Lieutenant?”
“Just Cam. But you can call me sir if you want to.”
I ignore his waggling eyebrows. “So if you’re not a cop, what are you?”
“I’m a real boy,” he says, in this really impressive Pinocchio voice that has me smiling. “Come on. Jake cooked breakfast.”
Oh shit.
“J-Jake sent you to get me?”
“Yeah.” He points to the card in my hand. “Said you called the office. Line got disconnected. Must be the storm. But we traced the number back to here.”
“You traced the number?” Oh my God. What kind of guy is this Jake Swagger that he can trace a number and have someone here to get me in less than an hour?
“Caller ID, babe. Ever heard of it?”
I’m so stupid.
I should probably ask more questions. Like who is this guy really? Who is he to Jake? His lawyer? Brother? Friend? Lover? And why in the hell would Jake want me to come to his house? Why is he cooking breakfast? He should have a cook that does that. A middle aged woman who is having a secret affair with Ross. Or Alfred.
“So you coming or you want to stay here?”
“I’m coming. I’m coming.”
He shoots me a sexy grin as he scans me from head to toe. “Even through all those clothes, I can tell you have a wicked little body to go with that pretty face and sassy mouth. Now I see why Jake is so anxious to have you.”