Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 667(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 667(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“I’ll call him in a few minutes. He knows I work long hours. See, that’s just it. That’s what I need you to know before I walk out of this bar. It’s not because I want to. It’s because I have to. I worked my way through school. I got accepted to two Ivy League colleges, but I couldn’t go part-time or pay the tuition. I had to work for a tiny firm for two years to prove I can win cases just to get this job. And I can win. I was a good hire. I’ll do a good job for you. And I can’t blow that or risk being ‘that’ girl in the legal circles.”
I let her story sink in. She could easily be someone who looks for a gravy train, but she’s not and this isn’t a show for her. She’s not playing me. She’s rejecting me, and I don’t intend to let that happen. I’m still holding her phone and put my number in it, but I don’t give it back to her. “I don’t sleep with or date women my company employs.”
“Then why am I here?”
“You interest me, now more than ever.” I cup her face. “I’m going to kiss you now unless you tell me to stop.”
“I don’t think you should do that.”
“That’s not stop, Mia.”
“I know,” she whispers, and my mouth closes down on hers, and the moment I taste her on my tongue, I know that I want more. And when she gives a tiny little whimper and leans into me, I know she does too, but still, I pull back and press her phone into her hand.
“You have my number. Call me, but know this, Mia. The next time I kiss you, I won’t stop.”
Chapter three
Mia
The present
Idon’t stop in the foyer that is too small not to be too close to Grayson for comfort. I quickly clear the small space and enter the open concept living area with dark wood floors, high ceilings, and dangling lights. I stop there, on the edge of a living room that no longer looks as it once did, the black couches now replaced with gray leather that matches the kitchen island to the left. I swallow hard, thinking about how hard it must have been for Grayson to take over this place, let alone decide if he should leave it as it was or change it. He loved his father deeply.
Grayson steps to my side and we both stare at the room and I wonder if he too is thinking about the funeral, and the last time we ever touched. The betrayal was gone that day, but the pain was not. “I won’t say what I’m thinking,” I say softly, my voice trembling ever-so-slightly.
“You don’t have to. I know what you’re thinking.” He motions to the left. “Let’s go downstairs.”
Downstairs to the bar and entertainment area of the house. Downstairs, far away from the door. I wonder if he chooses this location to prevent my rapid escape, but nevertheless, this is his home. This is his decision. I nod and of course, he falls into step with me, but once we’re at the winding gray and steel stairs leading downward, the path is made for one, and he does the gentlemanly thing and allows me to go first. I hesitate just a moment, but I start walking, grabbing the railing and carefully taking each step, aware of Grayson at my back in every pore of my body. Aware, too, that he didn’t ask me why I’m here.
Once I’m on the lower level, there’s a room with a brown sectional, a massive big-screen television to the left, and a fancy half-moon shaped bar to the right. “Let’s drink,” Grayson says, as he joins me, his shoulder brushing mine, and the touch is such a shock that I suck in air and cut my gaze.
I don’t look at him, but I feel his stare before he moves toward the bar. I follow him, choosing a barstool opposite him as he rounds the oak countertop. “Still love your Brandy Alexanders?”
“Yes, but I better not. I’m driving back tonight. You know I don’t handle my booze well.” The reference to how well he knows me is out before I can stop it.
“I do know,” he says, setting a glass in front of me before producing a bottle of brandy.
He then proceeds to mix my drink before filling his own glass with what I am certain is his favorite fifteen-year old scotch. He sets my glass in front of me. “But we both need a drink right about now.” He picks up his glass, downs it, refills it, and then walks around the bar to stand beside me. So damn close that I can feel his body heat, and when my eyes meet his, I’m burning alive again, and yet I’m frozen in place.