Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Sensing the urgency of the situation, I flung myself over to his corner of the room, pressing my hands together and bending my knees. My fingertips accidentally brushed his muscular forearm. A shock of electricity shot through my spine at our fleeting touch. “Row, plea—”
He pulled away fast, hissing as though my touch wounded him.
“Jesus Christ, get off me.” Get off him? I had barely touched him. A look of pure panic must’ve shown on my face because I flushed hot, and cold shivers ran through me at the same time. Worse still, I felt my eyes stinging with tears. You’re not going to cry, girl.
Not over a boy, and not over a job.
“Fuck.” His fingers caught the back of his hair, and he tugged roughly on the velvety strands. “You’re hired.” He pulled away from me like I was literal fire, rubbing at the spot where we’d touched like he wanted to clean himself. “Happy? You start tomorrow. Bring comfortable shoes and an entirely different personality. And don’t—I repeat, do not get anywhere near me. The kitchen is off-limits, you hear?”
“Ambrose.” Zeta put a hand to her heart. The overlapping chatter stopped, and everybody was staring at him as though witnessing something greatly tragic.
“You.” Row ignored her, turning to Rhyland. “Send her a contract and our menu to learn. If she fucks up once, she is gone. If she fucks up real bad, you pay out of pocket for whatever she breaks. Understand?”
Rhyland saluted him using only his middle finger.
“I won’t let you down.” I cleared my throat. But Row didn’t hear me, still laser-focused on Rhyland.
“If you come onto her, I will kill you. If you make me regret it, I will resuscitate you, then re-kill you. If she screws anything up, I’m killing both of you. I want her out of my sight, out of my mind, and out of my fucking way. Capiche?” Row continued.
Rhyland flipped him off with a smile, then curled his middle finger and gave him a thumbs-up. “Clumsy me. Yeah, got it.”
He turned to me now. “No verbal diarrhea, no offensive attire, and no arguing. Got it?”
“My attire is not offen—” I started protesting, before thinking better of it. “Right. Right. Sure thing, boss.”
“Isn’t she a ball of sunshine?” Rhyland all but clapped with delight. He loved seeing Row reining in his primal instinct to throttle me.
“Isn’t he a bouquet of grumpiness?” Dylan gestured to her brother.
Row raked his fingers along the back of his neck, fisting his hair. “Goddammit.” He turned around and stomped out of the room.
“You won’t regret it!” I crooned after his descending back as he took the stairs down.
“Already fucking am.”
CAL
“Crush”—Jennifer Paige
Six Years Ago
It was the first summer Row came back from Paris, and the town was reeling with his presence.
Even though he wasn’t yet famous, people lined up to meet him at the Casablancases’ door like he was Mick Jagger, hoping some of his stardust rubbed off on them. They kissed the ring, gushed about his success, and begged for recipes they could wow their families and neighbors with. For the first time since Dylan and I were in kindergarten, Row didn’t pay me any attention. Didn’t tug my braid with a teasing smirk, sneak me the last piece of cherry pie, or give me a piggyback ride upstairs, purposefully banging me against the wall to make me laugh. Every time I visited my best friend and he was there, he’d award me with a silent nod and walk off. I was air, invisible and unnoteworthy.
To make matters worse, my traitorous hormones decided to notice him. I’d always known Row Casablancas was hot in the same way I always knew the sun was—you needed to be a moron not to recognize this simple fact of life. Yet, that summer, he’d returned with a new, foreign glow. An erotism my seventeen-year-old self simply couldn’t ignore.
It stunned me that I couldn’t take my eyes off Row because I didn’t find guys attractive.
Scary? Yes. Untrustworthy? Always. Their physical advantage unnerved me. But not Row. Apparently, Row was in a different category than everyone else.
“Stop looking at my brother like that,” Dylan warned me one day when we were lying on towels in her backyard, working on our tans. Row and Rhyland were across the lawn by the edge of the forest, chopping wood for wintertime. They were both shirtless, sweat glazing their skin, Row’s golden cross necklace dangling between his sculpted pecs, glinting like the smooth surface of a sunlit lake.
Thump.
“Like what?” I pushed my sunglasses up my nose, feigning innocence.
“Like you’re interested in his wood, and not the kind he’s chopping.” She hiked up onto her elbows, ripping her sunglasses from her eyes to award me with a scowl. “He can’t be your next conquest, Cal, okay?”
Her words were ridiculous, but I only had myself to blame for the misconception.