Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72648 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
He didn’t say it quite as bluntly, although he hadn’t sugarcoated it either. It was an awkwardly silent ride in his Porsche Boxster to my low-income neighborhood, the heat and sexuality of The Wicked Horse Vegas long forgotten. My orgasms had cooled and the recriminations had set in, apparently on both sides.
When he pulled to the curb in front of my house, he’d put the car in park and turned to me, addressing me so formally. “I’m extremely sorry, Miss Robbins, but the line we crossed can’t be uncrossed. Because of that, I don’t think it’s wise to continue our working relationship.”
I’d gaped, blindsided, never having considered this might be the outcome. He’d never warned losing my job would be a consequence, because if he had, I damn well would have kept my legs closed.
“I thought it was just a one-time thing,” I’d said, trying to keep a leash on my anger. “Nothing should change.”
His blank expression hadn’t offered a single hint as to what he was genuinely thinking. No remorse, no second thoughts. He merely offered, “Your housekeeping position is still yours if you like. If not, I’ll give you a severance package to help tide you over if you choose to find employment elsewhere.”
The confident woman inside of me… the one who was able to step into this job and exceed his expectations was incensed. The fragile woman whose husband left her for someone else immediately suspected our time together in The Orgy Room wasn’t as great as I had thought it to be and chose not to respond.
Instead, I merely growled, “You’re an asshole, Dicklan.”
I then made a graceful exit punctuated with a hard slam of his car door behind me. I had no illusion he’d come after me, with perhaps even an apology. Dicklan Blackwood didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.
Fury drove me into my house, and I paced back and forth through my small box of a living room several times, trying to figure out what to do. The job he gave me was a brand-new lease on my life. The money was a saving grace to me, and I was actually doing something that I excelled at. And there was no way in hell I was going to be able to go back to housekeeping, a complete and utter disaster of a fall from the top.
Before I gave up for the night without coming up with a single worthwhile plan, I made sure to lock my doors. When I looked out the small pane of dirty glass on the front door, I’d been surprised to see Declan’s Porsche still out by the curb. Was he having second thoughts? Regrets? Or perhaps he’d just been answering texts and emails on his phone before he took off?
I had no clue, and it only infuriated me more to see him out there. Pivoting on my heel, I’d gone straight to my bathroom to take a hot shower and wash away his smell. As the soap circled the drain, I used it as a metaphor of sorts to rinse the amazing, transcendental, and orgasmic experience from my memory.
I was done with him.
Or so I thought.
I woke up this morning, and inspiration hit. I decided that I was not about to let him cut me from a job that I had rightfully earned and had done nothing wrong for which I should be fired. So I showered again, did my hair, applied my makeup, and chose one of the insanely expensive outfits he had bought for me. I made my way into work early, moving toward my desk with greetings to the other secretarial staff who were arriving. I ran the reports, made his coffee, and here I presently wait.
The minute he steps into his office, my stomach rolls. I can’t tell if it’s dread for the confrontation we’re about to have, or a reaction to how devastatingly gorgeous he is. His head is bowed over his iPhone, but it snaps up the moment he realizes someone is standing in his office.
There’s a moment where something strange and shadowed passes over his face. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I swear, it almost looks like relief. But then his eyes widen, dispelling whatever it was, before narrowing.
“What are you doing here, Miss Robbins?” he clips out.
That was the wrong greeting because my fury wells, the sweat on my palms drying.
“Miss Robbins?” I hiss, taking a step in his direction. “Miss Robbins? Not less than ten hours ago, you had your cock pounding away in between my legs, Declan. I think we can dispense with formalities.”
Declan’s jaw tightens, his glare intimidating. He steps all the way into his office, then shuts the door behind him. “Mind keeping it down? I’d prefer not everyone knows our business.”