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)
“Take me,” he repeats, this time, his thumb rubs across my hipbone, the gentle touch erasing all thoughts I had of him betraying me.
No, there is no way he would do that to me.
But that doesn’t mean I can allow for this to happen. I want his business, I want to work with him professionally, as a partnership, and for that to work, there is no way I can give in to my feelings even though I want nothing more than to throw caution to the wind in this moment and finally feel his lips pressed against mine.
Hating what I’m about to do, I let out a long breath and say, “I can’t.”
“You can’t?” His brow creases, confusion written all over his face.
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
With my second dismissal, his face hardens. Confusion vanishes with anger quickly replacing it. He pushes off the wall and turns his back toward me, his hand tightly gripping the back of his neck.
Needing to explain, I take a step forward and say, “Rome—”
“Leave.” He walks to his desk, not sparing me another glance.
“Rome, please.”
Snapping, he spins on his heel and points to his door. “Fucking leave. You’ve fucked around with my head enough to last a lifetime.”
“It’s not like that.”
He sits in his chair and moves his mouse, the telltale sound of his computer coming to life filling the silence.
“Please let me explain.”
He scratches the side of his jaw, his movements jagged, harsh. “Either leave in the next three seconds, or your friend is fired. Don’t fuck with me again, Peyton.”
“Rome—”
He reaches for his phone and before I can say one more word, I quickly sprint out of his office, tears welling in my eyes.
I can’t believe how horribly I screwed this entire thing up. I wish I never sent that stupid email, because not only do I think he’s never going to work with me, but I have a strong feeling I hurt him, and that realization just about kills me.
Chapter Sixteen
ROME
“Sir, everyone is waiting for you in the conference room.” Lauren peeks her head through my office door.
“I’m well aware that everyone is waiting, Lauren.” I just don’t give a shit at the moment.
My secretary hesitates outside the door, unsure. Not wanting to poke the bear. “Uh, are you going to join them?”
“Not right away. I need a few minutes to myself.”
“Okay . . .” Her voice drags out the word, concerned. “Should I tell them you’re in the bathroom or something?”
Why is she asking so many damn questions? She’s not my babysitter; she’s my assistant, for fuck’s sake.
“No, Lauren. Don’t tell them I’m in the bathroom, they’ll think I’m taking a shit—just let them sweat it out.”
“Okay.” She lingers. “Do you need anything? Lunch? Water? A chill pill?”
Jaw ticking, I make eye contact with her, unable to muster anything but a scowl. “Want to keep your job, Lauren?”
I’m only half joking and she knows it.
She nods.
“Then leave. Now.”
She scurries away, slipping out the door so fast it slams on its own, leaving me in peace.
Once she’s out of sight, I lean back in my chair and pull on the collar of my dress shirt that’s choking my neck. I hate it; I hate the rat race and having to find partners.
And I hate that I still look for Peyton in the damn break rooms.
Three weeks.
It’s been three weeks since Peyton left. Three blasted weeks of piss-poor marketing pitches. Three weeks of no erotic and funny emails. Three weeks of zero excitement in my life. Three weeks of me acting like a goddamn moody bastard.
I don’t know if it’s because I miss the interaction with Peyton, if it’s because I’m at a total loss with this women’s line the company is launching, or if it’s because I’m so goddamn hard up and itching to bury my dick inside Peyton that I’m being a “hormonal bitch” as Hunter so kindly put it.
“I can’t, Rome.”
I can’t.
Fuck. I can still hear Peyton’s words on a loop in my head. She can’t. She wouldn’t. How the fuck is that possible? Were her emails just a way to break me down, to show my vulnerability, to try to learn about me on a separate level so she could take me down when she was ready?
Well, it fucking worked, because I feel like I’m losing my damn mind.
She’s all I think about.
I find myself rereading our messages and emails over and over again at night. I stare at her company picture, at the Whitney Houston shirt picture, at the ass picture. I’m a pathetic mess of a man who is supposed to be running a Fortune 500 company and yet, here I am, staring at a company picture of a former employee.
Pathetic.
And yet, I’m angry as fuck too. I feel betrayed, like she chipped away at all my defenses so I would share personal information with her, and then she . . . she left.