Sheltered Read Online Free Books Alexa Riley

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 65862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
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The receptionist who can’t be much younger than me nods without smiling as she slides her finger across an iPad.

“Lilith will be with you in a moment. Please take a seat.” Her British accent is so lovely it makes me feel super inadequate.

I walk across the marble as even my soft steps echo in the space. I might need to glue cotton to the bottom of my shoes so I can be quieter. Suddenly I feel like a bull in a china shop, and all I want to do is be still.

There are three modern-looking chairs near a white wall and I turn around to sit on one. Suddenly the receptionist is standing up and shouting at me so loudly that the sound is deafening. Her voice startles me, and I nearly fall over as she runs to where I’m standing and pulls me away from the chairs.

“Those are not for sitting,” she scolds, pointing at the wall.

I turn around to see a small card that has the information about this art exhibit and the name Campbell in block letters on it. My face immediately brightens with embarrassment and I try to apologize.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. This is my first day and I’m really nervous.” I’m thinking if I’m honest with the receptionist maybe we can somehow connect. I’m sure she was nervous her first day, too.

“I know it’s your first day. You’re the one who got the job over me,” she says, looking at me with disdain. “And anyone who knows anything can recognize a Campbell exhibit.”

She huffs as she walks away back to her desk. And now I feel like a jackass. Not only am I completely inept at this, but I took her job. I’m sure we’ll be great friends. I sigh and roll my eyes before I glance down at the art. I still think they look like chairs to me, but what do I know.

When I look over towards the door I came in, I see a row of actual chairs, complete with a table with books on it. God, I’m in idiot.

I take a seat and pull out my phone. There’s nothing new from Fritz, so I send him a text telling him I’m going to need a hug after my first day is over. I stuff my phone back in my bag and reach for a magazine in front of me. They’re all on art, obviously, and I take the opportunity to read about a new experimental art with electric current. The images of electricity searing the canvas are actually really beautiful. Before I know it, I’m finished with the article and I hear the loud click-clack of heels headed my way.

I hastily put the magazine on the table and straighten it before I stand up and meet the woman coming towards me. She’s tall and slender, maybe in her late forties or early fifties. Her jet-black hair has no gray, but it doesn’t look like she dyes it. It’s away from her face and braided in a knot at the nape of her neck, revealing a strong jaw and blood-red lips. Her dark-rimmed glasses hide her eyes, but I’m not brave enough to meet them with my own yet. She’s wearing all black, and that covers almost every inch of her skin. Her sweater is high necked, and the sleeves are long enough to cover the backs of her hands. Her trousers are wide legged like mine, but so long they cover her feet. I hear the click of her heels, but I can’t even tell what her shoes look like.

“You must be Blair.” Her Spanish accent is thick, but not at all warm.

“Yes, and you must me Ms. Marsh,” I say, extending my hand.

“Lilith,” she corrects, but not in a friendly way. Almost like she doesn’t like her last name. “Marsh is my ex-husband’s last name and keeping it pisses off his new wife. Follow me.”

She turns and walks without waiting to see if I’m behind her. I grab my bag and quick-step to keep up with her long legs. I’m trying to process all that she said but don’t have time to, as her long strides are hard to follow. She’s so statuesque and reminds me of Catherine Zeta Jones. I open my mouth to ask her how long she’s run the gallery, but she begins talking over my attempt.

“You’ll be running the shipping and receiving of the gallery. We feature a new artist each month unless we’re commissioned for longer. Those will be approved by me directly, and I’ll let you know ahead of time. You’ll be in charge of maintaining the gallery calendar, which installations will go in what order, et cetera.”

She’s talking a million miles a minute and I suddenly feel like I should be writing this down.


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