Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
I have enough work to keep me busy, and a cold, lonely apartment awaits me at home, so I’ll stay at the office as long as possible.
“I’m knocking off,” Stil says from the door. “You coming?”
“Nah.” I glance up from a prospectus one of our potential charitable partners sent Marlee. “I want to nail down at least our first four charitable partnerships before the site goes live. We’ve got the Walsh Foundation, of course. I want to talk to the team about Restore, one Trevor introduced me to last week. So that just leaves another two.”
“You can do that tomorrow, Sof.” Stil approaches the desk, purse already hanging from her shoulder. “Besides, I could use a ride home, and you got the wheels.”
I roll my eyes but grin.
“Have Baker take you home. You’re not far away. By the time he swings back through, I’ll be ready.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Twenty minutes tops.”
“Okay, better be.” She heads back toward the door.
“Oh, Stil.”
She turns, brows up, waiting for what’s next.
“Um, could you pull the team together tomorrow?” I lick my lips and meet her questioning eyes. “Geena, Connor, Bill, you, and me.”
Stil walks back to the desk slowly, a frown on her face.
“Why do we need your manager, publicist and the lawyer, Sof? What’s going on?”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?” I try to reassure her with my smile, but it’s so phony it probably does nothing to put her at ease.
“If there’s something we need to handle, then—”
“Tomorrow, Stil.” I drop the smile and put on my “I mean it” face. “It’ll keep until tomorrow. Just see when they can swing by to chat and make it happen, ’kay?”
We’ve been together too long for my flimsy assurances to assuage her concerns, but I’m not prepared tonight to go into the scandal that is about to capsize my life. It’ll be hard enough tomorrow, because what turns my life upside down ripples through all of theirs. The concern on Stil’s face, in her eyes, only deepens, but she knows I’m done discussing it, so she goes.
Even so, when she leaves, the thickening silence in my office presses against my ears, squeezing away the peace of mind company manufactures. When Stil and my small staff buzz around the office, the laughter and conversation and energy cloak my fear and camouflage my uncertainty. With them gone, Trevor gone, just me here alone—the quiet exposes all, and I can’t hide from my own unease.
I stand, walking around and doing what I’ve always done to settle my nerves. Shaking my hands like I’m about to dive into the water for a race or climb in the boat for a regatta. As an athlete, I had all these little rituals to prepare for competition: doing a hundred jumping jacks, eating one of Millie’s Denver omelets, and, of all things, clipping my nails. But there’s no ritual to prepare for the standoff that’s coming with Kyle. I lean against my desk, rubbing the back of my neck where all my tension seems to gather.
I hear a sound in the outer office, and I lift my head.
“Stil, I told you I’m fine,” I call out with a small smile. “Go on home.”
Footsteps approach my office, confident and heavier than Stil’s. For a moment, my heart lifts just the smallest little bit, irrationally hoping that by some miracle Trevor is here.
“Bishop?” The name slips past my lips before my brain reminds me that he is indeed in South Africa. He called me from there today.
“Is that who you’re fucking now, Sofie? Trevor Bishop?”
What a betrayal of hope. Not Stil. Not Trevor. It’s the man from my nightmares. The man whose handsome face and plastic smile disguise the lecherous violence Shaunti Miller experienced. That I experienced.
Kyle closes my office door behind him, and the sound of it clicking locked lands in my chest like a live grenade. The pin has been pulled, and it’s only a matter of time before it blows. My composure disintegrates under his stare, which mesmerizes me like a snake poised to strike. The venom is in his eyes, and it paralyzes me, just as surely as if it’s rushing through my bloodstream, attacking my central nervous system. My limbs lock, my breath seizing in my throat.
In the space of two blinks, he’s across the room standing right in front of me, pushing the hair back from my face almost tenderly. His hands land on the desk before I can move, long arms bracketing my hips, trapping my body between his tall frame and the desk.
“Sofie Baston.” His breath, cool and minty, settles over my lips. “It’s good to see you again.”
I cautiously straighten from the desk, but he doesn’t move, so the motion presses our chests together. I can’t struggle with this man, not with Jell-O in my knee caps and cotton in my mouth, so I settle back against the desk, creating a sliver of space between us.