Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Eh?” I ask, and Maggie nods, grinning. “Where’d you get that from?”
“From that one night, about eight months or so ago, when you let him stay over?” Maggie says, and I remember. She’d said she was staying over at her parents’ place, but her mother’s stomach flu had canceled plans at the last minute. I hadn’t known, and Maggie had been cool about it, sleeping on the couch and not saying anything negative as I had Evan over. That he stayed at my place at all had been a big deal because he hated even coming to my neighborhood to pick me up for dates, absolutely refused to sleep in my tiny bed, and made rude jokes about Maggie and me ‘slumming it’ together. I definitely remember that we had sex that weekend, because it was the first time we had sex at my place instead of his.
“Wait, you heard us having sex?” I ask, and Maggie nods. “Mags!”
“What? That’s what he sounded like when he was fucking. Eh, eh, eh, eh!” Maggie exclaims, dropping her voice half an octave into an eerie imitation of Evan in the sack. “That was the most cringe-worthy ninety seconds of my life, by the way.”
I tilt my head, knowing what she meant. It had been a pretty quick, and unsatisfying, encounter. Though that wasn’t unusual.
Damn, what did I see in Evan?
He was everything you want to be, I admit to myself. Not personally. I can see that he’s kind of a shit human being now that I have some distance from him and his occasional charm, but professionally, he’s successful and powerful. It might be due to his family, but he still does the actual work and I always found that exciting.
“Now, I’ve got a series drama I want to finish before bed. You mind if I wrap it up?”
After a moment of staring in awe at my sweet friend whom I don’t know whether I deserve, I nod gratefully. I let Maggie go back to her tablet while I finish my cup and go to bed, where I lie in the dark, hoping for sleep.
Tonight has been a roller coaster of emotions. Up, down, twisty corkscrew gravitational pulls that make you feel sick? Yep, all of them… repeatedly.
Which only makes me more scared of what might happen next.
CHAPTER 10
DYLAN
“Mr. Sharpe?”
I look up from my screens at the sound of a faint knock along with my name and see my assistant, Tamara, in the doorway. Glancing at the clock on the wall next to where she’s standing, I realize I’ve been focusing on these projects a bit too much this morning. Over the last week, I’ve put off far too much while focusing on thoughts of beautiful curves and lush lips that should not be haunting me as they are.
“They’re here?” I question, although it’s more of a statement, closing the three thick folders in front of me and minimizing several tabs on the screen.
She nods and politely responds, “Mr. Miller and his daughter are in conference room A.” Tamara is damn good at her job. She worked for several corporations for twenty years before coming to work for me. She’s professional and a minimalist, never saying more than she has to.
“Thank you,” I reply, standing up, grabbing my suit coat, and slipping it on as I walk down the hallway. She walks beside me, handing me several folders for the meeting. Our main conference room overlooks the Financial District, a view I find the pair admiring as I open the large glass door and join them, leaving my assistant behind.
Inside, Geno Miller and his daughter, Denise, are waiting for me. When we first started discussing this deal, I was taken aback by Geno’s insistence on his daughter being brought in on everything. But it only took me one meeting to understand why.
He’s looking to cash out and wants to pass something along to his only child. It’s worked out for me as well, as Denise is eager to step up and move out of her role as the Chief Operations Officer of Miller Technological Minerals.
She wants the big chair. Whether or not she’s prepared for that is another story.
“Geno, Denise, thank you for coming,” I greet them, offering a hand as I cross the room. We shake hands, Geno first, Denise second. “How was your flight from Nevada?”
“Smooth as could be,” Denise says, looking around the conference room she’s been in a number of times. She’s dressed the part in a sharp suit, but she’s young, and to hand over such a large asset to someone so green could very well be a mistake.
“I’m glad,” I reply, unbuttoning the jacket I’ve just buttoned in the hall to have a seat and motion to the two chairs. The table’s shaped subtly, myself on one side, the Millers on the other, but the slight curve of the table gives me the ‘head’ compared to them. It’s faint, but I’ve become very familiar with what the firm calls the ‘Conference Room A Effect.’