Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
He looked at me, and I saw the pain in his eyes, the turmoil he was going through by talking about his family. I don’t know the story, and at this point, I don’t care. It’s done and gone. I made sure he never saw me sweat, and I stayed professional instead of blowing up and telling him to go fuck himself. I made sure he didn’t get under my skin, but the truth was, it was all I thought about last night. So much so that I went down the rabbit hole and googled him. I found a picture from when he was drafted with a woman who looked nothing like him, but I assumed it must have been his mother. But there was no information there, and after an hour, I felt like I was invading his privacy, so I shut it down.
Grabbing my cup of coffee, I bring it to my lips at the same time as my phone goes off again. Turning it over, I see it’s an email from Becca with the subject line of Wilson. I open the email and read through it. Wilson is no longer being represented by Richard but Becca, and all communication has to go through Becca. "Interesting." I set my phone down. Until this is finished, there is no reason to talk or think about him.
I block him out of my head for the next week and throw myself into my work. We are almost done with the finishing touches on the first show that will air next weekend. My stomach is in knots thinking about it. I spend fourteen hours at the office, coming home with just enough energy to shower and crash. I walk into the office wearing my black pants and a short-sleeved black silk top that I paired with white Alexander McQueen sneakers. "Is it dress-down day?" Earl asks me when he steps into the staff kitchen.
I look over at him. He’s wearing his regular dress pants and button-down with loafers with tassels. "Are you trying to insinuate that I can’t wear flat shoes because I’m a woman?" I pour a cup of coffee and turn to look at him. "That’s pretty sexist, don’t you think?" He puts his hands in his pockets, and his face gets all red.
“I should check the employee handbook.” I try to hide the smile from my face with my mug. “To see if footwear is in there.” I turn and walk out of the room but stop. “I’ll also definitely make sure I ask HR about it. Wouldn’t want to violate any rules.” I smile at him as he glares. I turn around now. “Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
“Ava,” I say my assistant’s name. “Do we have an employee handbook?” Her eyes pinch together, and she leans back in her chair and folds her hands together on her chest. “Earl just asked me if it was dress-down day since I’m wearing sneakers.”
She leans over, looking at my shoes. “Those shoes cost seven hundred dollars.” She gasps, and I laugh. “I’ll check and see what it says in the handbook.”
“Thank you kindly.” I walk back into my office and sit down at the desk. I’m editing some of the stuff for the show coming up when I hear a soft knock on my door.
My eyes look up, and my heart speeds up. “Hi,” Wilson says, stepping into my office. “Can I come in?”
I shake my head to try to snap the fuck out of it. “Yeah,” I say, getting up and looking out toward Ava’s desk and seeing it empty. “Come in.” I step around my desk, looking at him. He’s wearing track pants and a sweater with the team logo on it, and as soon as I get a touch closer, I can smell his musky aftershave.
My core goes tight, and my stomach flutters when he smirks. "You’re a hard woman to get in touch with."
"Is that so?" I ask, not sure what he’s talking about.
"I went to the studio first," he says. "But no one was there.”
"We only use the studio on taping days," I tell him, and he nods. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he was nervous.
He looks around the office, the walls still bare, but I did add in a picture of me with my nieces and nephew. "I texted you," he finally says, and I look at him shocked.
"You texted me?" I ask, pointing at my chest, my hands getting clammy.
"I did," he confirms, his blue eyes just staring into mine, making my chest tight. "Sorry for being a dick."
I laugh and shake my head. "That was you?" I grab my phone and pull it up. "I didn’t recognize the number."
"How many people would have sent you that?" He chuckles, asking me the question.