Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 155903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 780(@200wpm)___ 624(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
She stared down at the stuffed potato. How did he know that was her favorite? She didn’t get it very often. In fact, she’d only gotten it twice. But it was so yummy.
“I, um . . . this is for me?”
“Of course it’s for you.” He sat back in his armchair with his chicken salad.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Eat.”
Right. She would. She started to eat. God, she was so hungry. He reached out and slid the food away from her.
“Hey! Mine!” She reached for the container. Then she realized that she’d just acted like a toddler who’d had their juice box taken away.
Oops.
And now she really wanted a juice box.
“Slow down, baby. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
Oh. She felt herself blushing.
“Sorry.” She’d obviously made a fool of herself.
“Here. Eat slower.”
She nodded. But now she was too embarrassed to eat in front of him. She picked up the fork and prodded at the potato. It was so good too. But her stomach was tied up in too many knots to eat.
To her surprise, he sat next to her and took the container.
“Oh, did you want some?” she asked, looking up at him.
He stuffed a forkful of potato into her mouth. She just stared at him, her mouth still open.
“Eat, baby. With your mouth closed, preferably.”
How embarrassing!
She closed her mouth.
“Chew,” he commanded.
She chewed.
“Swallow.” There was clear amusement in his voice now. It actually helped lessen her embarrassment
She didn’t think he ever smiled much.
“Good girl.”
Yikes. Those words were her kryptonite.
They made her go weak.
Yes. She was well aware that she had several things that were her kryptonite. She should make a list.
He fed her another bite, moving the fork away when she tried to reach for it. Finally, she shook her head.
“No more. I’m full.”
He eyed her for a long moment. “Very well.”
“I, um . . . I should get back to work.” It was too much, being here with him, having him take care of her like this.
Standing up, she fled to her office, breathing deeply. She trembled as she attempted to figure out what she was meant to be doing.
Urgh. The food actually made her feel better, but she still had a headache. She tried to answer some emails, but the words kept blurring.
This wasn’t working. She needed to go get some painkillers.
Wait. The first aid kit. Getting up, she moved into the kitchen and found some painkillers.
Then she gulped down some water and rubbed at her temples again.
“You’ve got a headache.”
She let out a gasp, jumping into the air. Turning, she found Reuben standing there, watching her. “Um, yes. Can I . . . can I get you something?”
“Yes. Come with me.”
Faith followed him back into his office. She came to a stop as she found the food had all been cleared off the coffee table. And there was now a blanket and pillow on his sofa.
Where had those come from? Did he keep a pillow here? Did he sleep at the office often?
She hoped not, because that wasn’t healthy.
“Nap time. Take off your shoes. Pants and bra, too, if you want. I know sleeping in a bra can be uncomfortable.”
Torture.
But what was he talking about?
“Uh, nap time?”
“Nap time,” he said firmly. “You’re exhausted. You barely got any sleep last night. So you’re having a nap.”
She couldn’t nap. She had too much to do. And she’d already spent the morning shopping.
Although she had found the most amazing dress, it was a deep blue that almost looked black. It had a sweetheart neckline with capped sleeves and a slightly poufy skirt. It made her feel like a princess.
Cammie’s friend was a miracle worker. She’d just seemed to know what would work for Faith. Sometimes, it was hard to find something when you were taller than average, but this dress just worked.
“Reuben, I have to get back to work. There’s too much to do.”
“Who is the boss?”
Dear Lord.
“You are. But that doesn’t mean the work disappears.”
“Are you too overworked? Do I need to get you some help?” he asked.
The scary thing was that he looked absolutely serious.
“No, I don’t need help. My workload isn’t too much.”
“Then this argument is just for arguments sake? Because I don’t like that.”
“It doesn’t feel right to nap here.”
“Of course it’s right. I want you to nap. Now, pants on or off?”
She kept her pants on.
And her bra. Which she was starting to regret. Because . . . torture.
This wasn’t going to work. There was no way she could go to sleep like this. It felt awkward. What if someone came through that door?
What if she fell asleep and made noises in her sleep?
What if she drooled?
Yep. Impossible.
Although this couch was really comfortable and so was the pillow. She hated to admit it, but they were far better than her bed in the basement of Cammie’s house.
Well, not that you could call it a bed.