Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
I should have known better, given that he had been a football player for so long. I might not know a lot about the NFL, but I was pretty sure they didn’t half-ass anything.
“Yeah, I just sort of came in and started looking at stuff,” Brady said with a little half-shrug. “I hope I’m not stepping on any toes. It’s just easier for me to jump in and start doing things, you know?”
My eyes tracked his hands as he spoke. The hands that had held mine, the morning before.
They were big, and tan, and marked with calluses and a few little scars—rough hands, but in a way that made me want to touch them, to trace the little lines, to find out what it might feel like if Brady started doing things to me.
“Um, right, yeah,” I said, shaking my head a little to try and dislodge the very not-safe-for-work image that had taken hold.
God, I was really going to have to stop letting myself get so distracted by the new boss.
It wasn’t like I normally went off and fantasized about every hot guy who crossed my path, but for some reason, Brady was different.
Even though I knew I needed to focus on work, there was just something about him that got to me, that made everything inside me seem to sit up and take notice whenever he was around.
“Doing things is the best way to, uh, do things,” I added lamely, grabbing my coffee for another shot of caffeine to hopefully kick-start my brain. “And you’re the boss, so you can pretty much do whatever you want. Definitely not stepping on any toes, so don’t worry. You’ll probably be running the place on your own in a couple of weeks at this rate.”
“Oh, hell no.” Brady snorted as he shook his head, laughing. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I just need a handle on the finances so I have an idea what kind of offers I should be looking for.”
I blinked, everything inside me screeching to a halt.
Wait, what?
“Offers?” I repeated, forcing the word out through a suddenly dry mouth.
My stomach clenched and I started to feel like I might throw up before he could even reply.
Then, when he finally did continue, the feeling only got worse.
“Yeah, I really need to sell the place as soon as possible,” he said, frowning down at one of the reports on the desk. “One of those big flower chains has apparently been interested in buying this place for a while—I was going through some of my dad’s old mail—but it looks like he didn’t even open most of the letters from their corporate office.”
Those words immediately killed any and all fantasies—sexual or otherwise—that I might have been entertaining.
It felt as if the floor had disappeared out from under me, and I sank down into the comfortingly familiar squeaky chair as I took in what Brady had just said.
I could vividly remember the look on Henry’s face whenever he’d see another one of those letters Brady was referring to arrive in the mail. I could almost hear the words Henry had spat out every time another one came.
Those soulless corporate bastards will get the keys to this place when they pry them from my cold, dead hands.
I shuddered at the memory. It seemed a cruel irony that it was apparently going to become some sort of weird, self-fulfilling prophecy.
Brady was staring at me, the hint of confusion on his features making it clear that he didn't have any clue that he’d just rocked my world. And not in the way I had spent half the night fantasizing about.
“I… see,” I finally managed, even though, no, I did not see.
How could Brady even think…?
A wave of loss went through me, and I wanted to say more—so much more—but no words were coming to me.
Or maybe too many words were coming at once.
My brain felt foggy. I was hurt, and mad, and confused, and the worst part was that I had to pretend like I wasn’t any of those things.
Because Brady was the boss.
It was Brady’s business, and he could do what he wanted with it.
It felt naive now that my biggest worry had been that Brady might be a lazy or absentee owner. I’d literally never considered the possibility of him selling the business out from under me.
We were both silent for several long seconds. When I looked back over, he was quick to shift that intense gaze that I had been admiring just minutes before back to the papers in front of him, to the creamers and the sweeteners, to the stupid computer—anywhere, it seemed, to avoid my stare.
“It’s really the only option for me at this point,” Brady said, clearing his throat. “I can’t even… there are just so many bills, you know? I’m sure you can understand that.” He shrugged a little and looked back at me. “And anyway, it’s not like the place will really change. It’ll still be the same store, just with a different name on the door. Not a big deal, really.”