Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
I know that's the most I can ever hope for, and lately I haven't even been getting that. Maybe that's why I started fantasizing about him. Maybe I just miss him. He's been so busy with the company's newest and biggest acquisition, some financial firm in Switzerland, that he's been attending more meetings and staying at the office later than ever. I think he sleeps there sometimes. He's even going to Switzerland soon to iron out some details and
-
A sudden realization stops my thoughts in their tracks. Speaking of Switzerland, wasn't I supposed to send the tailor additional funds to finish Ethan's suits?
Shit. I've been trying to plan so many things for his trip that that important little detail slipped from my mind. But I'm going to fix that now.
I wash up and get dressed as fast as I can, then gather the stuff on top of my bed and shove it inside my purse as I run out the door.
Hopefully, I can fix this blunder before Ethan notices.
~
"Thank goodness." I let out a sigh of relief after getting off the phone.
I managed to get in touch with the tailor in Switzerland. Thank goodness he was already awake. I've just sent him payment from the digital wallet set up on my office computer and told him to deliver the suits to the hotel as soon as he's finished with them. In short, I've managed to prevent a disaster. Now, Ethan is all set for Switzerland.
And I can go home.
I glance at the door to his office as I gather my things. I can see the sliver of light beneath it so I know he's still inside. I should get home before he knows I'm here and -
I gasp as I see the leather-bound journal inside my purse. What?
I pick it up and flip through the pages just to make sure it is what I think it is. It's my journal, alright. I must have accidentally shoved it inside my purse along with my other things while I was panicking over my mistake.
Oh, Stella, you can be so stupid sometimes.
I'm about to put it back in my purse but the door to Ethan's office opens and I panic again. I stand up so abruptly that the purse on my lap falls off. Before I can pick it up, I realize I'm still holding my journal, which I definitely don't want Ethan to see, so I quickly hide it behind some sheets of paper on my desk.
"Are you okay?" Ethan asks as he approaches.
"Yes," I answer as I pick up my purse and its spilled contents. Then I stand up and face him with a smile. "Everything's fine."
Ethan doesn't look convinced. He stares at me with a puzzled expression and I realize I must look like a mess. I didn't get to tie my hair before I left home and it's flowing past my shoulders with more than a few strands out of place. And what I'm wearing is a lot more casual than my usual office outfits - khaki slacks and a plain white blouse. Shit. Why did he have to see me like this? I've just ruined the image of the woman who's efficient, cool, calm and completely in control that I've tried so hard to create.
"Weren't you wearing something else earlier?" Ethan asks.
Yup. Something nicer.
"I was," I admit as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "I already went home, changed, and was all set to enjoy my weekend, but I suddenly remembered something I had to do."
"It couldn't wait until Monday?"
"Not really. And I didn't want to worry about it over the weekend so..." I draw a breath. "Anyway, it's done now. Nothing to worry about. I can go and enjoy the weekend."
Ethan nods. "You do that."
"How about you?" I ask him.
I know he just gave me my cue to leave, but a part of me can't help but want to extend this conversation even just a little longer, especially considering this is the first time he's talked to me in days.
"Are you sleeping in your office again?"
"No. I don't think I will." He touches his neck. "I miss my bed."
I suddenly have an image of him between black sheets, completely naked and with a massive bulge poking the silk. I shake it off. It's one thing to imagine him while I'm in my apartment. It's another to do it when he's standing right in front of me.
"Well, you need to rest, too," I tell him. "I know you're stressed about this Swiss acquisition, but you need to be in perfect health so you can stay at the helm."
"I know. Thanks."
He smiles and my knees go weak. Why does he seem to have a stronger effect on me than usual? Is it because of what I'm wearing? Because of what I was doing earlier?