Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
As if she crossed that T, she appears finished with that line of questioning. That has me changing tactics. “How was your day?”
“Busy. I have a client that I can’t seem to please. He insists on meeting after meeting about the most trivial stuff. Like those boxes.” And she’s off like nothing ever happened. “He wanted to see the gift-wrapping options and how we can mix it up for him. Our wrapping is custom-made to fit the occasion, but he wants me to whip something together just to show him the bow. It’s ridiculous. His wife won’t care about the box once she sees what’s inside.”
“What’s inside?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t even get me started. That’s a whole other list, and he can’t decide. So basically, I’m showing him boxes for a gift that might not even fit inside. He told me that I’m doing too good of a job, and I made this difficult for him. He wants to meet soon to discuss everything over lunch again. I’m exhausted. He only eats pasta with me because his wife doesn’t allow him to eat it.”
“Is he hitting on you?”
“Of course, he is. I see right through it. But when he’s spending six figures on an anniversary present, I’m supposed to be available.”
“No, you’re supposed to find the perfect gift. That doesn’t include you.” I shouldn’t have snapped, but I fucking hate men who prey on women. It’s different if they ask you to, which has happened to me before. It just wasn’t my brand of kink.
She jerks her head back. It’s subtle, but I see the change in her demeanor. A beguiling smile, that look in her eyes that tells me I’ve lit a fire inside, and her hand rubs over my knee. “Oh my, Mr. Decker, do I detect a note of jealousy?”
“Is that a turn-on for you?”
Stilling, she keeps her eyes locked on mine as she seems to digest the question. “You’re a turn-on for me.” She leans forward to kiss me. I won’t turn her down. Fuck, I want her just as much. I always want to know what’s going on inside her head. Rejection won’t win me points, so I kiss her. The feel of her lips pressed to mine makes it hard to stand on some made-up principle.
I stop, though. I hate myself for doing it, but it has to be done. “I want to take you to dinner, or we can order in if you’re not up for it. I just want more time with you. I like hearing about your day and your thoughts on wrapping paper. I like seeing where you work and . . .” I run a hand through my hair, looking down. When I look back up at her, her eyes are set on mine, but there’s a softness at the corners.
She asks, “And?” The anticipation is thread through the simple request.
“And I get why he’d want more time than he should get with you.” The fucker better not try anything. “Given the chance, Tate, I’d spend every minute with you, too, if I had my way.”
“Have your way with me then, and let’s go back to my place.” Taking hold of my hands, she urges me forward. “We can order food and hang out in bed, watch TV, and you know, just be together. Only the two of us.”
“You sure that’s what you want?”
She gets up and settles on my lap, wrapping her arms around me. “I do, Harrison. It sounds like the best date ever.” My head is kissed and then my temple.
I’m not sure I can take credit, but the woman who is used to getting anything she wants doesn’t want much with me . . . wait, that came out wrong. She’s content with me. That’s better.
With my arms around her middle, I hold her on my lap and look at her. “I think so too. You ready to head out, or do you need to wrap some things up first?”
“I’m ready. I was working late to avoid going home alone. My head will wander to a billion places that I don’t want to go if left to its own devices.”
She’s starting to open up without having to use ploys or tactics. That’s progress, and I’ll take it. “You sure you don’t want to talk about anything?”
“Not yet.” Her arms tighten around me, and we kiss again. “Is that okay?”
Rubbing her hip, I nod. “Of course. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here.” I want to push to get answers, but pushing Tatum will only push her away.
She hops off my lap, her skirt clinging to her curves, her high heels solid in her stance. The woman is skilled standing in those all day. She moves around her desk and takes care of a few things before asking, “Ready?”