Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Never in my entire life have I been high. I’m a good girl who has never smoked a thing or even tested out any recreational substances, but this feeling shooting my veins, this feeling of Rome having an ACTUAL conversation with me rather than threats and lectures? This has to be what a high feels like.
TO: RomeBlackburn@RoamInc.com
From: HandsRomingMyBody@RoamInc.com
Why was it weird that you bumped into someone from work?
And he’s totally talking about me. I knew there was an off chance I made a lasting weekend impression on him. I just need to make sure it was a good one and not a bad one.
To: HandsRomingMyBody@RoamInc.com
From: RomeBlackburn@RoamInc.com
Did I say weird? I meant fucking awkward. This woman is someone I clash with on a regular basis, so it was a shock to see her in “my spot” sitting at “my” table, in my damn neighborhood.
Eh, okay.
There goes that good impression.
Awkward? I didn’t think it was awkward, more . . . entertaining. Well, it was entertaining for me, maybe not for him as much since I was the one pressuring him when he was looking for help . . .
No! I will not feel bad about that. If he wants my expertise, then he can hire me for what he wants. There.
And what was he doing at MY coffee place to begin with? I’m practically married to the damn shop. Our invites are on backorder right now, so there is no way he’s been there before.
TO: RomeBlackburn@RoamInc.com
From: HandsRomingMyBody@RoamInc.com
And you’ve never seen her there before? How is that possible?
I cross my arms over my chest and rock in my chair. Yes, how is that possible?
To: HandsRomingMyBody@RoamInc.com
From: RomeBlackburn@RoamInc.com
Yeah, I was thinking about that too. In all honesty, I haven’t been there much lately. Too busy working. Thought I’d go and sit and enjoy the evening—but that didn’t happen. She was sitting there, working, and the whole thing threw me off. I walked out without getting my coffee—felt like such a fucking idiot. But whatever. Think I should find a new coffee shop?
Felt like an idiot?
Don’t feel bad for him, Peyton. DON’T YOU DARE feel bad for him.
Okay.
I might feel a little bad for him.
I threw him off, made him feel awkward, and then sent him on his way when he just wanted to enjoy a nice cup of Joe.
I giggle to myself, recounting our interaction. I was in rare form. Confidence oozed from me, and I shouldn’t be ashamed of that.
The only thing I should be ashamed of is letting my coffee get lukewarm while talking to him.
To: RomeBlackburn@RoamInc.com
From: HandsRomingMyBody@RoamInc.com
You LIVE in that area where she was hanging out? What neighborhood was it?
Time to get a little more personal. Not that I’m going to stalk him or anything . . .
To: HandsRomingMyBody@RoamInc.com
From: RomeBlackburn@Roam.com
I’d rather not say. I live in the same building I lived in when I graduated from college. Granted, I own the building now, but still. Where did you think I lived? No—don’t tell me. Some snotty complex in Manhattan or Tribeca? Maybe a brownstone in Gramercy? Are you stereotyping me? Because I own my own company and I’m young? Tsk, tsk, shame on you.
RMB
P.S.: Your email handle makes me fucking laugh every time I type it in. Hands roming my body. So fucking ridiculous.
I take a deep breath as another wave of butterflies erupt in the hollow of my stomach.
He’s joking with me.
He’s interacting with me.
He’s opening up to me.
This might be too much to take in one day. In the matter of half an hour, Rome has morphed into an entirely different man behind the screen. He’s no longer the angry tyrant.
No, he’s become the hot guy with a sensitive heart. I am totally screwed. It was one thing to fantasize about fucking him, and another completely to consider emailing him back and forth with ridiculous banter. And chemistry. Don’t get me started on the idea of having to continue working with him. But now, the idea of being more? Of possibly being his friend? It’s scaring me shitless. Would Rome actually let someone like me in? Could he consider me a friend, or am I setting myself up for an even bigger drop when this is over?
Chapter Twelve
ROME
I have a goddamn smile on my face.
It’s spread from ear to ear, and for the life of me, I can’t wipe it away. I try to relax my cheeks, I try to pinch my eyes together, I even try to pout my lip like a child, but I can’t get rid of this smile.
I have clearly lost it.
Fucking lost my mind.
This is what happens when you work too hard, when you spend hours upon hours hovering over the blue screen of your computer trying to make your company the best in the world. There is a breaking point.
There is always a breaking point, and I think this is mine.