Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
“No.”
“It’d be good for the O’Hare image,” Monica presses.
“No.” I point to Lucia. “Office.” I jerk my head.
She hurries to her desk and then joins me. Monica tries to follow but I slam the door in her face. I’m not trying to harass anyone. I just want to look at my future wife’s legs. Is that so terrible? No, it’s not.
“Sit,” I bark as I take my own seat.
Lucia startles and then drops into the chair in front of the massive desk. My whole plan goes to shit when I realize that my view of her is only from the waist up. I can’t even see her lap. This is utter bullshit. Who designed this moronic desk anyway? It should be glass! Fuck this.
I shove out of my chair and storm around the acre of wood until I reach Lucia. She backs away as I loom down.
“I’m not touching you,” I growl. You’d think she heard I ate babies or some shit. I’m going to have to talk to Monica about this. I pick up the chair and Lucia and carry it to the side where I can see her—face, legs, lap and all. “There.”
I resettle into my seat and stare. This is perfect. In fact, this is where Lucia should sit at all times—not out in the pool with Monica and Cesar but in here with me where I can look over at her slender legs, her ugly black flats, the sack she calls clothes, her gorgeous brown hair that the sunlight kisses from the windows, and her beautiful face with those pillowy lips.
She rubs said lips together before parting them. “Did you have something you wanted me to take down?”
I heave out a sigh. “Yeah. Why haven’t you said I can call you Lucky yet?”
Chapter 10
Lucia
“You can call me Lucky if you want.”
“I do.” He leans back in his chair with a big smile on his face like he’s won some prize. I think he gets weirder by the day. Which is not working out so well for me. It only makes me watch him more.
“Okay.” I tap my pen on the top of my notepad, staring right back at him. It’s hard not to with the suit he has on. I mean, it’s so pink. It’s the same color that has been popping up all over the office recently. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I told him it was my favorite color and now I’m surrounded by it. The suit he’s sporting today tells me he will pretty much go to any lengths to get what he wants. He’s the only man I know that could pull off wearing that suit and still look hot.
“Why do people call you Lucky?”
“Why are you in a pink suit?”
“You don’t like it?” He looks down at his suit, his eyebrows pulling together. “You said you like pink,” he reminds me, making me laugh.
“I know I like pink. I’m not so sure it should cover a whole suit though. Maybe try just a tie next time. It’s hard to pull pink off sometimes.” I want to tell him the truth—that he could wear a damn sack and I’d still be attracted to him—but I don’t. I also don’t care much for all the attention the pink suit is bringing him.
“You could pull off all pink.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “I haven’t come across a pink suit that was in my price range. I’m on a budget.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Handle it?”
“I’ll get you one.”
I shake my head. “You can’t buy me a suit.”
“Why?” For the first time he actually looks offended by something I’ve said or done. Which is nuts because I’ve both slapped him and dumped drinks over his head. “That’s not in the manual.” He pulls out a giant white binder from a drawer in his desk, tapping the top of it. I start to reach for it, but he pulls it back. “It's boring. I’ve read it from front to back. You don’t want to. Believe me.” He drops it back into the drawer. “So you never answered me. Why do they call you Lucky?” Okay, then.
“My cousin, B.J., gave me the name a long time ago. She thinks I have a way of walking right into luck or it dropping into my lap.” I did have some strange luck. It wasn't winning the lottery luck but more a make it in the nick of time kind of luck. Right place, right time. I think it’s all run out though. The minute my hand connected with Mr. O'Hare’s face. I knew it would run out eventually. On second thought, maybe it hasn’t. I still have a job after everything that has happened. So maybe I am living up to my nickname.
“Do you have a nickname?” A few days ago I had a couple choice ones for him, but I’ve since stopped referring to him as them. I don’t know why I keep asking him personal things but I can’t seem to help myself.