Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
My fourth-floor apartment sported a view of a brick wall, but that was okay. It was all part of paying off my student loans, and I was almost there.
This little section of his enormous deck had become my morning haven over the past week, giving me a tiny slice of much-needed calm in the swirling vortex of chaos that was Nixon. I flipped open my planner to today’s date, then placed my phone next to it, making sure the schedules matched as I reviewed the day’s appointments.
“Not that he’ll actually stay on schedule,” I grumbled to myself.
We’d cleared Nixon’s calendar of all professional appearances until the first show, which was in a little over three weeks, but he demanded to stay busy. Knowing that idle time was an enemy in this stage of his recovery, I couldn’t blame him, but the man had seriously dragged me to an axe-throwing range yesterday. He had a call with his rehab therapist at ten, but other than that—
“Why do you do that?”
I startled, fumbling my coffee, but I managed to avert disaster as Nixon appeared behind me. “What are you doing up so early?”
“It’s eight thirty.” He rubbed his sleep-mussed, carelessly sexy hair with one tattooed hand and carried a steaming cup of coffee—black, of course—with the other as he walked out onto the deck. Shirtless. He was shirtless.
Lord, help me.
It didn’t matter how many times I’d seen him run around the stage half-dressed, the sight of his inked, ripped torso never failed to make my mouth water. I might not have liked the guy, but I wasn’t blind. He was pretty much a walking, talking advertisement for sex and bad decisions.
There was a reason People magazine had given him the title of Sexiest Man Alive.
Any girl with the internet could find his stats. He stood six three, at two hundred and ten pounds post-rehab, with dark blond hair and fuck-me-now brown eyes. Those stats didn’t mention how tiny he made me feel as he towered over me. Nor did they reveal the way his back tattoos rippled with his movements as he walked across the deck, or that his ass could make sweatpants cool again.
Nope, those were facts you could find only in my head. I knew way too much when it came to Nixon Winters because I was the one tasked with cleaning up his messes, including anticipating the ones he hadn’t gotten into yet.
“You’re not usually up for another couple hours, so it’s early for you,” I finally said.
“You sound disappointed.” He turned and leaned against the railing, lifting his coffee mug to those carved, sinful lips.
“Nope, not at all,” I lied, ripping my gaze from his and focusing extra hard on the words “lunch appointment” in my planner as my brain chanted abs, abs, abs. Given the amount of time he’d spent dragging me to the gym this week, it was easy to see why he was so cut.
Focus, Zoe.
“And why the hell are you dressed for church on a Friday?”
“I’m sorry?” I glanced at my classic, navy linen sheath and matching sweater.
Ahh, and so it begins. Another day of Nixon pushing every button I had. I guess it was better than him trying to get in my pants, but I wasn’t exactly his type. Nixon liked tall, model-thin lemmings who never asked questions in the morning. I wasn’t any of those things, which was exactly why Ben had charged me with this assignment.
The payoff would be well worth it.
“You heard me.” He tilted his head and gave me an appraising once-over.
“I’m dressed for work, not church. Because I’m working. You may have blown off your producer every day this week, but I can’t exactly do the same when it comes to Ben. Hush Note doesn’t just run on its own, you know.”
The skin between his eyes wrinkled. “So, you have to dress like Jackie Kennedy at eight in the morning while working from home?”
God, I hated him. Hated that smug look on his stupidly attractive face.
“First, that’s not an insult, and second, what would you prefer I wear to work? Something to match you?” I gestured from his toes to his torso.
“I’m cool with you going shirtless. I mean, you’re not exactly my type, but—”
“God, just go back to bed!” I snapped. Shit.
He chuckled, knowing he’d gotten to me, and my stomach tightened.
I never won with him.
“So really, what do you do out here every morning?” he asked.
“I check over my day, and yours.” Because how else would I know to let in the cute little blonde masseuse he’d scheduled for a ten p.m. massage?
“In a paper planner? You may as well break out the stone and chisel,” he challenged and took another sip. “And besides, it’s already in your phone. How many planners does one woman need?”
I scoffed. “The calendar on my phone is accessible to everyone at Berkshire Management. So even Been-here-two-days Tommy can log in and move things around. But this baby?” I pointed to my leatherbound love. “I’m the only one in control of it, so I know the why’s and when’s of an appointment being moved.”