Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“The faster I read, the more books I can devour,” I say.
“She’s always been like that,” my dad weighs in, and I wish he wouldn’t. “That was her motto as a kid.”
Kid. Thanks, Dad.
“And now I guess I know what to read next. Captain Dude,” I say, wrestling back some of the conversational control from my dad.
My father looks at his watch. “I have another meeting, so I’d better take off. But I’m glad this is working out for everyone.”
Except my libido.
“I have to head uptown to meet with CTM,” Bridger says, turning to me. “But I’ll see you back at the office later, and we’ll hammer out the details.”
That’s his meeting with the talent agency we work with a lot. I’m not needed there. I am needed back at my desk, where I should dive into all things related to The Rendezvous.
But when we all leave the restaurant, and Bridger and my dad take off, I’m not feeling the desire to flee quite so much.
I want to stay because I’m standing with Finn outside the restaurant on a warm summer day in Manhattan, and he’s staring at me like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve.
17
DESIRE DÉTENTE
Finn
“You wear glasses,” I say, stating the obvious. But I mean something else entirely.
You look stunning.
Jules lifts a hand to touch the black frames self-consciously. “Contacts most of the time. But at work, I usually wear glasses.”
I bet they’re a shield. A layer she keeps between herself and others. There’s so much she holds inside. So much she clearly keeps to herself.
Even if she needs them, the glasses seem like…work role-play.
“I remember you had on glasses the first time I met you. A year or so ago,” I say.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I probably came from the office. To dinner.”
“These are real?”
She nods. “The ones I wore the other night weren’t,” she says. I figured as much. She took off those glasses at my home and didn’t seem to need them.
I hold her gaze as Midtown traffic chugs by and New Yorkers in suits and sweats march past us, phones glued to ears, destinations and deadlines in their eyes, and I know neither of us is talking about eyewear. We’re talking about each other. The things we notice. The details we’re cataloging.
She nods toward my green tie. “And you’re wearing a tie.” It’s more than an observation. It means I like the way you look in a suit.
I should be talking about the meeting we just had. I really should. But I only want to ask her questions. Why do you put up barriers? What’s behind those soulful eyes? Whose secrets are you keeping?
I can feel her reserve. She holds back in public. But in private, when I touch her, she’s almost a different person.
No, that’s not quite right. In bed, she seems free. A let-loose version of herself. She’s the sexy librarian, taking off her glasses and letting down her hair.
For me.
Mmm. I’d like to play that scene next time with Jules. I get a little lost in the image of her in a pencil skirt, with pouty red lips, tugging a book down from a shelf as she gives me a seductive, come-hither look. I’d return all my books late to get a library fine from this woman.
“What is it?” she asks, breaking my dirty daydream.
Oh, I was just imagining the start of a filthy scenario with you.
And fuck it. “You look like a librarian,” I say, my gaze raking over her. I mean, that skirt. That tight fucking skirt.
She laughs softly but with something like relief. Maybe she was restrained during that whole meal—understandable—and now she doesn’t entirely have to be.
But I shouldn’t get caught up in her. I’m drawn to her and that’s dangerous. This isn’t how I like to do life. I like to be in control in the bedroom and in the boardroom.
Too bad I like that blush on her cheeks. I crave her Summer Day scent too. It drifts teasingly toward me. I steal an inhale, and my head swims with longing.
Must. Focus.
“I didn’t know you were eager to work on the show. We never talked about work,” I say, both an excuse and a wry observation about our time together.
The corner of her lips curves up for a fraction of a second. “I guess we had other things going on.”
I’ve got to stay in control now that we’ll be working together closely. “I knew you worked at Opening Number because your father had mentioned it,” I say, hating the twist in my gut at those words—your father. I should not have to mention the father of a woman I want. “But of course neither of us knew you’d be moving to a Streamer show.”
With wide eyes, she says, “I can ask them to move me to a different one.”