Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“In Greenwich, Connecticut. About an hour away.” He shifts a bit closer to me, and our legs touch. He doesn’t pull away, and our connection lingers, making my pulse race.
No man has ever had such an effect on me. I cross my legs and look out the front window for a few seconds, worried over what he’ll see reflected in my eyes if I stay turned his way.
“Not far at all then.” My voice trembles. Does he notice?
“I was raised in Greenwich too.” He’s sharing something personal with me, and I can’t help feeling closer to this powerful man.
“I was raised in Alabama. Though, I’m sure that’s not a surprise, considering how I talk.”
“So was my mother. Your accent matches hers.” My mouth flies open while the corners of his lips rise, turning into a full smile that makes me forget how to breathe. “Surprised, right?”
“Totally,” I say in a weak voice.
I imagined his mother to be a refined socialite from the Upper East Side, educated at the finest prep schools where girls are polished to perfection. I wonder how she ended up in New York City and married to one of the most influential publishers in the city.
“She worked for the company after graduating from Brown University.” He either read my mind, or I asked my question out loud. The latter is likely.
“An office romance then,” I say with a sneaky smile.
“Something like that.” He straightens his already perfect tie. I do love watching his long fingers, though I wish he didn’t skip over the juicy details.
Still, today, girls from Alabama rarely get accepted into Ivy League colleges. I can’t imagine what it was like years ago when his mother went to school there.
“Your mother’s smart,” I blurt out.
“So are you.” I wonder how he can say this about me based on our limited interaction. At least I’m not coming across as a country girl from the sticks.
“Thanks.” My face blushes at his compliment, and he smiles back at me, only making my condition worse. I’m not used to having a man’s attention aimed at me like this. It’s all so overwhelming.
“Do you live in the city?” He finally asks me a personal question, but it still floats on the surface of small talk.
“Just visiting for a few days. By myself.” I have no idea why I included my lone wolf status.
“I’m still unclear how you ended up in our lobby.” He tilts his head and pauses. “But I appreciate your help today.”
“I hope it works.” Mr. Black’s lack of cooperation is etched on Mr. Hammond’s face, so I truly hope we can change his mind about this awards dinner. It sounds super important, especially if his book wins.
“Me too. Well, I need to make some calls while we’re driving,” he says in a firm, deep voice, like he’s switching from casual conversation to business mode.
“Of course.” As CEO, nonstop calls and meetings have to fill his day. I can’t expect him to entertain me the entire ride. Though I’d love to talk with him and get to know him better, I have to be realistic. He has a corporation to run.
Mr. Hammond stares at me for a few silent seconds, then drops his eyes to my mouth and follows a straight line down to my chest.
I squirm in my seat. He clears his throat and looks forward. This tension between us rises to a point where I might combust. I worry the windows will soon fog up, just like Maggie mentioned—and we haven’t touched each other.
Dream on, Holly. The man is way out of my league.
He extends one leg and digs his phone out from his front pocket. I can’t help but notice the fabric straining over his crotch, and there’s something rather large outlined by his wool trousers.
Whoa.
I can’t believe it. This hot, older man is turned on … by me.
His insistence that I cover my exposed legs makes sense now. He wanted them out of his sight. It had nothing to do with me being cold. I gaze out the side window as the road flies by, a slow smile building across my face.
11
Barclay
“Don’t you agree, Mr. Hammond?” Mrs. Ratner, my human resource manager asks, but I have no clue what she wants me to agree on. All my calls have been a blur.
I run my fingers through my hair for the millionth time today. It has to be standing up on end by now. I blame my lack of concentration on the young woman sitting next to me with her shapely legs, long blond hair, and curves so dangerous, they should be illegal.
In fairness, it’s not her fault she was born with everything that drives men wild. She actually comes across as more of an innocent, likely having no idea the effect she has on men—or me, for that matter.