Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I wasn’t bred to have those curves guys want. If I were honest, my shirt is hanging off my shoulder, not by style, but by inconvenience of my thin shoulder bone.
The way he spoke down to me still didn’t hurt any less. Or the way he looked at me, as if I’m so hard on the eyes, he couldn’t take another second of me in his presence. Not to mention he was a jerk and I didn’t get the contract. I tossed and turned all night. Christine’s going to hate me. She wanted this so bad, and I’m taking it from her.
I could google a contract. Make one up. I could just fess up and say I lied and beg them not to take it out on my best friend who wants nothing more than to join the blood-suckers. Or…I could go back. And as I jammed my arms through my worn pleather jacket, I knew I was going to regret any option I settled on.
I look at the time, and guilt washes over me as I watch the clock hit three in the afternoon. For my plan to work, I have to ditch my Monday afternoon Human Ethics class. I message my professor, telling him I’m not feeling well and I’ll do what it takes to make up the time. If I enter the club during the day, I’ll hopefully hit the cleaning crew, then I can pretend to be one of them and get my ass into Damien’s office.
I was smart enough to watch his bodyguard type in the code for the elevator, and I had to roll my eyes at the triple sixes. How cocky can one person be? I wonder if he saw through my lies when I told him he was nothing to call home about. He was far from unattractive. His height was domineering at way over six feet, and there was no hiding how fit he was by the muscular outline of his button-down dress shirt. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and those eyes…their color was indescribable. One may call them hazel, but it doesn’t do them justice. Amber would be the best way to describe them. The way they seared into me. In my dream last night, they looked at me with need. Lust. His strong hands didn’t shy away like they had in his office. They touched me in places that have yet to be sought.
I shake off the crazy. I do not need to be daydreaming about the son of Satan and his asshole ways. I need to get in his office and get that contract without getting caught. My friendship with the only friend I have at the moment depends on it.
I take a cab downtown and walk the five blocks to the unincorporated bar district. The club is located on the outskirts of town but isn’t difficult to find. Without a sign, it’s hard to locate again, but then I recognize the alley I got thrown out of.
I have no problem getting inside. The way I’m dressed, I fit right in with the cleaning staff. I walk back to the private elevator and enter in the code, which it accepts. My brows rise in surprise when I turn the doorknob to his office and it opens without resistance. I was prepared to jimmy it but turning the knob and gaining entry is a plus. I enter his office, and the smell of him surrounds me. It pains me to admit it, but the scent is so strong and enticing, I want to capture some of it and take it home with me. It’s a shame the owner of the alluring scent is a jerk. I brush it off and make my way straight to his desk. He has to keep them in here. I start with the middle drawer, and nothing.
“Dammit.”
I try the side drawers, all with the same conclusion. Pulling a bobby pin from my ponytail, I kneel, placing my face close to the lock. I stick the pin inside and use another pin to wiggle the side of the—
“It’s a new desk. Meant to withstand a measly hairpin.”
At the sound of the familiar voice, my whole body jumps, and I bash my head into the desk. “Crap!” I yelp, dropping my pins as I grab for my poor nose.
I look over, and holy mother Mary and baby Jesus in a manger. My mouth parts as air whooshes from my lungs. He’s soaking wet—from a shower or sweat, I’m not sure. The room starts to feel too small, and my skin starts to feel too hot as I take in his slicked back hair, the shirt clinging to his skin, and the shorts sculpting to his…fuck. The devil should always steer clear of Prada and definitely work in basketball shorts. I gulp and jerk my gaze up, the bruise surely forming on my face almost forgotten. When I meet his eyes, my hands start to tremble. I’m in real trouble.