Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Didn’t we have a discussion about your clothing?”
He glared at my leggings as if I’d worn them to personally offend him. I was going to do it one of these days, pin a murder on him, maybe even a heist. Why did every exchange between us feel like a challenge to a duel?
“If you could take a breather from being a royal pain in the ass for two whole minutes”––I gestured with a hand––“this is Miller, my assistant.”
“Yeah, nice to meet you.” He jerked his chin, barely spared Miller a passing glance before his disapproving expression returned to me. A shaft of sunlight hit his face, highlighting the hard angles of his face, his eyelashes casting shadows. A handsome royal pain in the ass. There was no denying it.
“Pleasure’s all mine,” Miller returned, and I bit the inside of my cheek because I knew what that tone meant. The sarcasm got Scott’s attention too––and Miller closer scrutiny. Scott turned on him again, openly assessing my friend. This time with an expression meant to put Miller on notice.
“How long are you in town?”
Miller Smith had an I.Q. of 148 and a gift for reading people. He was wasting his life away as my assistant and I often told him so. Despite the sordid stories I’d told him about Scott over the years, he knew Scott was not someone to be trifled with.
“Only a few days. My husband needs to get back to work.”
One word was all it took to magically transform Scott’s aggression into dispassionate acceptance. Without further remark, his attention retuned to me.
“Your clothes are distracting my men. That’s dangerous for them. Don’t wear those”––he stabbed an index finger at my tights––“around here again.”
Ignoring his behavior was the only way to go. Any sign that he was affecting me would only encourage more of it. “We’re going into town. I need to buy a pull-out couch. I was hoping you could help us pick it up?” Nothing. I got nothing but a flat stare from him. “Perhaps…at some point?”
He smirked. “If you’re looking for a beast of burden, look elsewhere, babydoll. I’m a rough ride and you’ll end up black and blue.”
If it had come from anyone else, I would’ve laughed. But this was Scott. He may have been serious. “So you fully admit that you’re a jackass?”
“Nice meeting you,” he said to Miller. Then he marched past us, up the steps, and disappeared into the office. I glanced over at my one and only ally in this cluster of a situation.
“Isn’t he dreamy?”
“You should definitely let him go down on you.”
Chapter Eight
Sydney
For the next two days Miller and I worked non-stop. Essentially, I had to take the two secretaries, two phones, countless files, a laptop and a desktop, fax, printers and scanners I had at my disposal 24/7 in my Manhattan office and condense it all into a mini home office built on an unreliable thrift store table that was more appropriate for hobby jam-making than serving as the satellite office of a Fortune 500 company. Regardless, we did it. We also purchased new linens, pots, pans, and the infamous pull-out couch––which I had delivered for obvious reasons.
Something had to be done about the living situation, however. I couldn’t continue to sleep in the living room indefinitely. Problem was, I hadn’t been able to pin down Scott long enough to discuss anything with him. The last time I had mentioned it he shrugged it off.
“This is where I live,” he’d said. End of conversation.
It was like trying to reason with one of the bison I’d seen roaming the property.
On Miller’s last day in town, we decided to hit the Handle Bar at the Four Seasons for lunch. I walked in, glanced around, and what I found might as well have slapped me across the face.
Scott was sitting at the bar dressed in dark jeans and a navy sports jacket with a white dress shirt underneath. The only time I ever saw him in something other than flannel and worn Levi’s was when he went out at night doing God knows what with God knows whom. But that wasn’t even the worst part. That wasn’t what made a deep sense of disappointment settle low in my gut.
He was smiling broadly at the bartender, an attractive woman with a waterfall of black hair and a heart-shaped face. It was a genuine smile that reached his eyes, making them wrinkle at the sides, and put his dimples on full display. It was a smile I recognized because it was the same one he’d given me right before he’d kissed me in the coat room at his sister’s wedding.
Coming to stand next to me, Miller glanced around. “Syd, what’s…” His voice petered out when his gaze tracked mine across the room to the bar. Without a word, I made a sharp right, walking in the opposite direction to the hostess stand, and Miller followed. We were seated in direct line of sight of the bar, and for the rest of the meal a dark cloud settled over us.