Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I kept trying to find fault with him, but despite his bawdy sense of humor and the way he charmed every woman in every room he walked into, there was more to Nash than met the eye.
“Hey, Nash.” Lance came over to us, cocking his head. “Do you need anything?”
“I came up to sign some postcards for Sariah and anyone else who needs them,” Nash lied smoothly. “With the playoffs coming, I figure I won’t have as much time so I thought I’d take care of that now.”
I quickly pulled out the stack of postcards I had in my drawer and put them on my desk. “Chop-chop, buddy.”
Nash chuckled.
“We appreciate it,” Lance said. He turned and looked around, letting out a low whistle. “Hey! All-hands meeting in ten minutes. Conference Room A.”
I grimaced, wondering what that could be about since we’d never had an all-hands meeting in the five weeks I’d been here.
“I’ll sign a few dozen of these,” Nash murmured. “Get back to work.”
I kicked his foot with mine. “Sure, now that you almost got me into trouble.”
He winked and snatched the black Sharpie from my hand.
The meeting turned out to be about Nash, which was kind of funny. He’d been getting so much fan mail since the underwear ad had come out, the media relations department and their interns simply couldn’t keep up. Though much of it was filled with the usual excitement, the team felt strongly about having a person look at every single letter. They didn’t want to miss anything important, like a request from a sick child or something like that. Nash had initially said he would pay for the postage so that every single person who wrote to him would get an autographed postcard, but there were over ten thousand pieces of mail now. It had gotten unwieldy, so the higher-ups had asked that everyone who worked in the executive offices take a few minutes every day to help out.
Even if it was only ten minutes, if everyone did it, we might be able to keep up. So Monique and I ordered takeout for lunch and used one of the small conference rooms to eat, go through fan mail, and chitchat.
“I feel like you’re holding out on me,” she said, once our food had arrived and we shut the door behind us.
“Holding out?” I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t even try to pretend there isn’t a little somethin’ somethin’ going on with you and Nash.” Her eyes twinkled with delight even as I shook my head vigorously.
“Are you kidding me? Of course there isn’t anything going on with us!” I stared at her. “How unprofessional would that be?”
She arched her perfectly shaped brows in disbelief. “Unprofessional? Girl, if I was a decade younger and single like you, I’d be all over his fine ass!”
“No, you wouldn’t.” I pointed to the open letter in front of me. “Have you read some of this nonsense? These women are hard core. I can’t imagine being his girlfriend or anything else with the kind of attention he gets. This is the kind of thing that makes relationships a nightmare.”
“This…” She motioned to the box of letters on the table. “Is mostly make believe. Women with fantasies who are never, ever going to even breathe the same air as him. Nash, on the other hand, is a living, breathing human being with feelings and a heart and a good head on his shoulders. He knows the difference between crazy fans and someone he could build a future with.”
“Now you’re the one who’s dreaming,” I responded. “Besides, there’s kind of someone in my life already.”
Monique gaped at me. “You’ve been seeing someone and didn’t tell me?”
“Kinda?” I scrunched up my nose, trying to decide how to explain my relationship with Rob. “His name is Rob.” I told her how I’d accidentally texted him and everything that had happened since then.
“Talk about make believe.” She leaned forward, her face more serious now. “Listen, I get that you’ve been careful with this guy, not giving him your full name or where you work or anything, but why would you ignore something with real potential for someone who might be a faux European prince just waiting for your bank card number?”
“I’ve talked to him on the phone, so he’s almost definitely American. He might be a fifty-year-old dude living in his grandmother’s basement, but he’s no weird prince or anything.”
“But you obviously have reservations or you would have met him in person already.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, because she was right. I did have reservations. Rob could be anyone, of any age or background, and that was intimidating. “I do worry about who he really is, but at the same time, he’s someone I think I’d want to go out with at some point. Assuming everything he’s told me is true.”