Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
It takes longer than I care to admit to commence my return to the building I fled like a groom with cold feet. But before I get halfway down the sidewalk, I’m stopped by an unlikely source.
“Ho, ho, ho.”
With a playful twinkle in his eyes, a Santa who should be sweating on a warm December day like today thrusts his charity bucket my way.
Although my family is generous with donations, even more so at this time of the year since we relied on them so much during my childhood, the last charity Santa cleaned me out. I’ve not had time to replenish the cash I usually keep on hand in case of emergencies or payment terminal malfunctions.
I only have a few quarters in the coin section of my wallet, which I deposit into his bucket before attempting to step past him.
This time, I don’t get in a single step.
Santa gets up in my face again, his demand for more as apparent as his familiar facial features.
“Aren’t you the Santa from Friday—”
Before all my accusation leaves my mouth, the frustrated groan of a woman in need trickles into my ears. “They’re my clients! They would have never transferred their accounts to Black Industries if I hadn’t coerced them to the dark side.”
A security guard gives a curvy brunette with her back to me a miffed look while a second officer deposits her onto the sidewalk.
Once they have her outside of Black Industries’ walls, the first officer hands her a framed photo from the file box he’s clutching.
As the two officers return to the security office in the foyer of a massive steel-and-glass structure, the brunette tosses out a range of obscenities. Some are in English, but most are in a language I don’t understand.
“Ungrateful, scum-sucking leeches,” she murmurs after her screams diminish the last of her energy.
When she spins around, my cock recognizes her before my head does.
“Kelsey?” My shock is understandable. Her glossy dark locks are pinned back in a low, modest ponytail, and her curves are covered with a skirt and a buttoned-up-to-the-neck blouse my grandma would wear.
She’s still gorgeous, but more professionally refined than the little sex pot who rocked my world two nights ago.
She’s excited, and then panicked. “Zane.”
I’m unsure if my unexpected presence is responsible for the whitening of her cheeks or if she is horrified she cussed in front of Santa like a rapper laying down new tracks.
Even full-grown women don’t want to land on Santa’s naughty list.
He’s usually most girls’ first legitimate crush.
I realize I’m the cause of Kelsey’s embarrassment when she offers me a pathetic wave before bolting down the sidewalk.
Desperate not to lose her in a sea of millions again, I take off after her, my steps unhindered by Santa since he’s no longer on the sidewalk, demanding more cash.
“Hey. Whoa. Slow down,” I beg when it takes me jogging to keep up with her. “Can we at least swap deets before you disappear on me again? I can’t keep turning up in random Kelseys’ inboxes. I’ll most likely get arrested since I can only describe you as having legs that go for miles and breasts that taste like mint and chocolate.”
When she stops walking, my reply having the effect I’m aiming for, the confident won’t-stop-until-I-get-what-I-want woman I wrangled with only nights ago is nowhere to be seen.
She looks upset, and it instantly switches my mood from personal to professional.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
Her eyes become wet before she admits, “They fired me.” She slings her eyes to the building she was forcibly removed from. “They fired me and gave him a massive payout like every million he earned them wasn’t a trade I recommended. I did all the work!”
The shock in my tone can’t be missed. “You’re a stockbroker?”
“Yes.” She groans before correcting, “No, not exactly. I’m an analyst for a stockbroking firm. He’s the broker.” Her shoulders slump as it takes everything she has not to cry. “Now I’ll never be able to buy him out. No one will lend me money if I don’t have a job.”
“I would.” The offer leaves my mouth before I can stop it.
I’m glad when my pledge burns off the droplets brimming her eyes. She’s still upset but far from bursting into tears. “I need more than two hundred and fifty dollars this time.”
“I could be open to a little more,” I reply before spinning her in the direction of the closest watering hole. We could both use a drink, and it’s finally ticked past noon. “How much are we talking?”
A brick lodges in my throat when she replies, “How do you feel about a three-million-dollar loan?”
She’s joking. Her tone exposes this, not to mention the ease of her question, so I play along. “You’d want to cook damn good chilaquiles for that much coin.”