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)
For a stupid moment, hope that it’s a job offer rises in my chest, and then disappointment hits me freshly when I realize it’s not.
It’s Dylan.
Which is a good thing. A great thing. Probably the only thing that could bring the slightest hint of a smile to my face right now.
Do you have a preference for dinner?
My throat tightens as Michael’s words flash in my mind. I have truly invested everything and am losing at every turn. No more interviews, no scheduled meetings, no calls to return. So, should I tell Dylan that I can’t go out with him?
Dylan, I don’t think we should… I start to text before quickly hitting Delete.
If I do that, it will have all been for nothing.
And I did truly have fun with Dylan at the event. At least until I freaked out, but he was understanding about that.
Instead I text back, I am open to whatever you’d prefer. I hope your day is going well. I want to thank you for helping me. Even if it's not in the cards, I appreciate your help.
Dylan lives up to his last name, and a moment later texts back, Did something happen?
I assume he means more than basically being accused of having a reputation for using men by sleeping with them. But I went into things thinking my eyes were open and won’t blame him for my actions, however ill-advised they might’ve been.
No. I just wanted to make sure you knew I was grateful. Regardless of what happens.
Almost as soon as I send the message, his reply comes back as if he was texting even while I was typing. Let's do dinner tonight instead.
I can't. Plans.
I can, of course. But I need to get my head straight and do some self-analysis on what happened at the event, and how I feel about it and Dylan. Plus, I have big plans tonight. I’m going to eat Cup Noodles in my pajamas and complain to Maggie about my week. I’ve earned it after the day I’ve had.
Okay, Saturday still?
I think for a moment, but ultimately send back, Yes, Saturday.
I grab my Cup Noodles. Taking them back up to Mrs. Hyunh, at least I know I’ve made one good decision today.
CHAPTER 12
DYLAN
Idespise working on the weekends.
The stock markets run from Monday to Friday. And while there may be a lot to pack into those days, the entire system is predicated on the simple fact that on Saturdays and Sundays, not too damn much happens.
Sure, there’s social power to be gathered, traded on, and banked away. But that’s not the same, and if I want to participate, fine. Or if I want to take Saturday morning off and laze on the couch, I can. Not that I ever do something like that. If I’m sitting down, I’m reading, learning, and researching.
Obsessive? Yes. I’ve never claimed otherwise.
But I have a new obsession—Raven Hill, who’s taken a considerable portion of my mental focus this week, so I’m making up for lost time by spending the day in the office.
Glancing up from the computer to the ticking clock, I know I’m simply counting down hours. My shirt is unbuttoned at the neck with my suit jacket draped over the back of my chair. My tapping foot keeps track of the seconds, and it’s all far too aggravating.
She gets to me. This woman has some kind of hold over me that I can’t ignore.
It’s not about Raven’s looks. I’ve come to that conclusion easily enough. As beautiful as she is, and as sensual an aura as she puts off, I haven’t been merely distracted by thoughts of how intensely we fucked on that conference room table.
I think it’s about the risk.
And out of shared fucking hatred of Evan Faulkner.
But if that’s all it was, I’d be thinking of Evan, and I’m definitely not thinking about that asshole. I can’t stop thinking about her. What she’s thinking about it all. Where she’ll be going. What she’s doing. So many questions about a woman I should never have slept with.
Every time I consider this evenings’ goals, I’m left with conflicting images in my mind. On one hand, there’s Raven, the professional businesswoman. Full of potential, and with the skills to make any firm that lands her millions of dollars in her first year. She’s the sort of talent that could be signing billion dollar deals by her thirtieth birthday. If her career isn’t derailed by Faulkner and his wrath and the bullshit social circles that exist in this business.
On the other hand, I also see Raven in that weak moment, her eyes large and pleading, her lips swollen from our kiss, and her body needing me and no one else. I hear her sighing my name, coming on my cock, and squeezing me just right. The memory alone makes my cock twitch with need.