Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say as I sweep past him. “See you later.”
I shrug off my coat. Even though I’ve had this dress for a couple years and feel totally comfortable in it outside the office, I still feel oddly self-conscious. Maybe it’s the heels. I swear I could get arrested for having a deadly weapon. A small sharp swipe and I could definitely poke someone in the heart with these.
Maybe I need to somehow arrange to be bending over the photocopier or printer when Leo arrives.
I log on to my computer, check I have his day pack of materials for his meetings, and tell myself again why it’s worth me hiring myself out for the evening. It doesn’t make me a prostitute. There will be no sex. Leo is a player, a playboy, goes through women like they’re water and he has a habit of showering three times a day, but he’s not an asshole as a boss. He’s not going to make a pass at me, even if he does find me attractive. As long as I can hold myself together and not lick his face, I’m golden.
There’s no going back now. I’m here, I’m ready. I just need Leo to see that I’m the answer to all his problems. He gets a new manager at The Mayfair and a fiancée. It’s a double win for him. And I can find him a good assistant. This job pays good money. I can probably find someone to fill the position in twenty-four hours.
I hear Leo’s laugh in the outer office, where all the employees of Hart Developments work except Leo and me. He always stops to chat to people as he arrives. He’s a popular guy. People like working for him. I’d like working for him if he was five notches less attractive than he is.
I stand and round my desk, so he can get a head-to-toe view and really take me in—proof that I’m Leo Hart fiancée material. I’ll also be ready to offer him coffee (which he’ll turn down) and say good morning to my boss.
“Morning, Jules,” he says, bursting through the door beaming. He freezes as he sees me. His eyes dip to my bright red lips, and then he frowns before letting them trail down my body. Then, like he catches himself being office-inappropriate, he shakes his head. “Good to see you. How are you?”
“Good. I have your pack ready.” I pick the papers up from my desk and follow him into his office. “Would you like a coffee?”
He takes a seat behind his desk, and when he looks up at me, he startles, then immediately trains his eyes on his computer screen.
The screen that’s still dark, because he hasn’t turned it on yet.
“No, thank you.”
“I’ve been through your emails,” I say. “Nothing urgent has come in overnight. New River architects want a meeting. I’ve given them some times next week.”
“Right,” he says, and I can tell he’s not concentrating.
“And in between your meetings, I thought we could talk.”
His eyes slide to mine, and I get a jolt in my chest like someone’s tapping on my sternum with a hammer.
“Talk?” he asks, in a tone like he’s concerned he might be just about to step on a landmine and he’s trying to be relaxed, despite being in a life-or-death situation.
“Yes, just picking up on some of the things we discussed yesterday. I know you ruled me out being your fiancée, but I think I’d be perfect for the role. Our meet-cute makes sense. We work together. Boss-employee things happen all the time.”
He puts up a hand to stop me. “Meet what?”
“How we met. Our meet-cute.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” He groans. “Sometimes I feel so old.”
“And it means you don’t have to trust a stranger. You’re my boss, so I’m not going to go rogue and reveal that our relationship is put on. You sign my paychecks. I’ve got every incentive to make things as easy and discreet as possible for you.”
“So, you’re listing all the reasons why you pretending to be my fiancée is completely inappropriate. Is that what you’re doing here?”
“It’s not inappropriate. It’s not like I’m just doing it to please you, to make sure I don’t lose my job—”
“No, you’re doing it for promotion. So that’s fine, then?”
“But we’re not really going to get engaged. You’re not asking me to hightail it to Vegas, have Elvis officiate, and then fuck your brains out.”
I cringe at the words I just used. I shouldn’t have brought up fucking. To my boss. To my very handsome boss. And is it me or are the tips of his ears burning red?
I clear my throat and continue. “I’m just saying, we both get what we want in this scenario. And it’s not like I’m not qualified for the job. I’m supremely qualified. I know the hotel business inside out. More importantly, I know The Mayfair. This job was made for me.”