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)
Evan says something, and I can see Raven blink in shock. While she hides it well, her eyes flash with outrage. It’s as if someone just slapped her in the face. Probably Evan, by the way those emerald eyes are burning right now.
I’m surprised by my own reaction to watching their exchange play out because I feel pulled to intervene, perhaps even to help her, which is an odd sensation, given I’m far from a white knight. Instead, I absently swirl the whiskey as intrigue settles in.
While I’m no expert at reading lips, Raven’s mouth is in clear view, and I can read one of the words she says. Elise. Elise Draeger is Evan’s assistant and has been seen with him at a handful of meetings. It’s always seemed professional, but perhaps not?
The picture becomes sharply clear in a flash. Raven’s reaction going from warm to icy, her stunned expression, and the anger building beneath her serene guise at the mention of another woman.
Evan truly is an idiot. What makes it worse is that he chose now, in Lionfish, to break up with Raven. He has to know the importance of this meeting, and to choose now…
I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. He really is a callous asshole.
It’s only a matter of seconds before he’s gone.
I watch closely, waiting to see what she does. Will she leave, or stay? Can she put together a sentence after that humiliating experience? The answers to those questions will tell me more about Raven Hill than the piece of paper in front of me.
Her stern expression slowly fades into professionalism, but the haunted look in her eyes doesn’t change. When she takes a sip of water, her hand trembles, but she doesn’t spill a drop. Perhaps she’s made of sturdier stuff than Evan thought. Maybe that was the problem?
As I swallow the last of the whiskey, I genuinely feel sorry for the young woman. Or maybe not sorry. This feels like kinship, which would make sense considering Evan fucked me over too. No one was there to help me at the time, but perhaps I could help Miss Hill?
And in turn, help myself to a bit of cold revenge.
The little spark of an idea invites an asymmetrical grin to play at my lips. A mere instant later, the plan is fully plotted out in my mind—a way to use the information I’ve gleaned before our meeting and maximize the resource I’ve been gifted in the beautiful and surprising Miss Raven Hill.
There’s a reason Evan’s one of the best at making enemies in this industry. And you know what they say, the enemy of my enemy is… well, I’d take Raven as more than just my friend.
Standing up, I approach the table, a minute late but still close to our appointment. “Raven Hill? Good afternoon, I’m Dylan Sharpe.”
She looks up, and I’m struck by how unusual her green eyes are. Now I’m sure of it. Evan’s a dumb fuck. How could any man who has a woman this gorgeous with him be tempted by anyone else?
“Mr. Sharpe,” Raven says, and while there’s tension in her voice, it’s nothing that couldn’t be explained by simple nerves over this meeting. In fact, if I hadn’t just observed her break-up with Evan, I’d have written off the tension as exactly that.
I’m impressed by her strength and resilience and have to remind myself that though a small mercy is kind, I need to be careful here. My assumptions are most likely correct, but there’s still a chance this whole display is one of Evan’s machinations.
She stands to greet me, stretching out her hand. I expect her skin to be cold, or maybe clammy, after the emotional upheaval, but it’s simply warm in mine as we shake professionally. Her touch, though… is like fire. My heart races, and heat surges through me as I release her and unbutton my jacket.
“May I sit?” I ask wryly, and Raven blinks and smiles while tucking a loose strand behind her ear. Her smile is even more enchanting, and as I take my seat, I can feel myself falling under her spell. “Tell me about yourself. Not what I can read on your resume, but tell me about you.” I should mean professionally. I absolutely mean personally… intimately.
Thankfully, she has her wits about her and keeps us on track, seeming unaware of my visceral response to her. “I’m interested in your firm because I can fill a role for you in a way no other candidate can. I have an uncanny ability to find extra percentage points of profit in the market news and—”
“Wait,” I interrupt, rudely holding up a hand to test her reaction. “I know all that. I read your resume, compared your personal portfolio info to mine and my colleagues’. I know your professional qualifications, and I’ve heard a thousand people tell me that they’re bloodhounds when it comes to sniffing out profit.” Her expression doesn’t fall at the chastisement. In fact, she leans in, nodding slightly, as if she’s hanging on every word I say. “They all tell me that they’re the next star of the stock market. I said, tell me about you. Why do you want to bust your ass so hard for a position at my firm?”