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)
So glad she can be nonchalant. “You just cannot help needling me, can you?”
“Needling you? What are you, seventy?” She’s laughing at me. “No, I’m not needling you—obviously not.” She taps her chin. “You’re adorable when you get yourself worked up into a snit.”
A snit.
What the fuck.
No. I do not get myself worked up into snits; I’m commanding and in control of my impulses—unlike some people, apparently.
“I like it,” Peyton adds, crossing her arms.
“You need to stop.”
“Does it make you uncomfortable when I’m honest?”
“No. I prefer when people lie.” I haven’t rolled my eyes this hard since I was thirteen years old.
“Well, if it’s opposite day, I love that I’m not working for you anymore, and I’m glad I never get to see your grumpy face again.”
Wait. Huh?
I have no idea what to fucking say; but she’s in my face, staring expectantly—and so is everyone else.
Through my clenched teeth, I say, “People are watching.”
She tilts her head. Smiles. “They are.”
“You should probably go back to your party.”
I’ve said nothing that I came down to this floor to say—that she quit and doesn’t deserve a fucking farewell party. That she’s unprofessional—well, okay. That part I did say—that her blue dress makes her look smoking hot to the point of distraction.
And I think about her way more often than I should, even before I realized RoamingHands was her.
And that I’m so goddamn mad at her for putting me through the wringer, for making me feel more than is appropriate for an employee, and that because I’m equal parts furious and turned on—because she’s fucking hot—I’m tempted to cause a scene. And I never cause scenes.
How has she made me behave like someone I'm not? I barely know myself anymore.
And why is it that not only am I flustered, but I want to bend her over a chair and spank her to teach her a lesson?
Chapter Fifteen
PEYTON
“You should probably go back to your party.” Rome’s voice is clipped and commanding, hell-bent on being a hard-ass. Hell-bent on being in charge.
But I don’t want to go back to the party.
Not even a little. I’d rather stay rooted to this spot and volley insults back and forth with him. With Rome. Who’s staring me down like I’m the last person on earth he wants to be seen standing with.
The fire in his eyes gives him away.
He can’t take his eyes off me.
Good.
I fold my arms over my chest and say, “Or maybe I stand here and argue with you some more.”
Leaning even closer, he whispers, practically hissing, “My office in fifteen minutes, Miss Lévêque.”
With a turn on his heel, he heads toward the elevator, his well-tailored jeans showcasing his firm and yummy backside as he walks away. They look expensive—as if he had them custom-made for his body.
Ten bucks says he irons them.
Shoulders tense, he sifts his tan fingers through his thick hair, stretching the back of his shirt, while he stands impatiently waiting for the elevator, not giving me a second look.
It takes two seconds for the vultures to attack.
“Holy hell, what was that all about?” Gen asks, scaring the crap out of me, a cup in hand.
“Yeah,” another voice intones, this one deep and definitely male. “What was that all about?”
Startled, I turn to find Hunter O’Rourke staring at me, plate full of cake and ice cream hovering balanced close to his mouth, forking a chunk as his gaze flicks back and forth between the bank of elevators and me.
Chews. Swallows, one fork after another into his mouth.
He’s watching me expectantly, brows raised. “What crawled up his ass and died?”
I almost laugh. Almost. But Hunter is technically my boss, too, and I don’t want to embarrass myself.
“Uh, we needed to tie up some loose strings.”
“What kind of loose ends?” Hunter looks me up and down as he shovels another chocolate chunk onto his tongue. He licks it before raising his fork and pointing the tines in my direction. “He looked a little too agitated for loose ends. Did you piss in his Cheerios?”
Oh jeez.
“I might have pushed his buttons just a little.”
“On your last day. Imagine that.” He shakes his head. “I guess that’s one way to make a dramatic exit.” Hunter takes yet another big bite of his bottomless piece of cake. “Thanks for the slice. Good luck with life. If there are any leftovers, let me know. This is so fucking moist and delicious.”
Hunter bumps me with his hip as a friendly goodbye, then saunters toward the elevators, most likely headed to Rome’s office. With the way those two bicker and carry on, there’s no doubt in my mind he’s heading up to give him a little shit.
Once he’s out of earshot, Gen—who’s been waiting patiently for Hunter to leave—can’t hold it in any longer. “Okay, spill. What the hell was that thing with Rome Blackburn all about?”