Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30802 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
He smiles grimly.
“Consider it handled. And as far as a lack of work to do,” he continues, “I can always find a job for you if you like.”
There’s a dangerous tone to his voice, and I take a long pull off my kombucha to buy some time.
“What were you thinking?”
“There’s always something that needs to be done,” he says in a vague tone, his expression giving nothing away.
I feel like a mouse between a cat’s paws, being batted around with no chance of survival. I am dizzy with longing; Gray is so gorgeous and yet so enigmatic too. He’s clearly out of my league, and I’m utterly outmatched. But I have to try, otherwise this is going to end up even worse.
“Gray, tell me what I have to do to make it up to you.”
He contemplates me for a long moment, those blue eyes cool.
“Tell me why you’re doing the marketing internship.”
I sigh.
“Because my dad wants me to.”
“That’s it?”
I nod. “He wanted me to get into marketing so that I can work at Kombuchaid at some point in the future. You know, family business, yada yada yada.”
Gray stares at me and then asks, “Is that why you’re getting a marketing degree?”
I nod miserably.
“Pretty much. I mean, I liked some of the classes, but most of the time I was bored and it’s just so dry!”
“Not challenging enough?”
I shake my head, even more miserable now.
“Not interesting enough.”
Gray takes a moment to think.
“What would you have chosen instead?”
I look down at the counter. Where are we going with this? Why are we playing Twenty Questions, when we should be talking about my mishap this morning? But my lips quirk into a small smile.
“Digital Art, probably. Or Art Education. I liked my Art History classes the most.”
He nods.
“Do you have fondness for pretty things, Harlow? I know I do.”
Again, my head snaps up to stare at him. There’s a double entendre to his words, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was calling me pretty. But then I hang my head once more. Me, Harlow Marshall, pretty? I don’t think so. Not with my enormous breasts, wide hips, and frizzy hair.
I shake my head.
“You can learn a lot about people by looking at what display in their art. For instance, if you look at the paintings of Monet, his impressionistic work leaves you with the idea that he liked to look at the whole of a scene and less so at the details. He was a big picture guy, who likely didn’t care for the minutiae of life. Then you take someone like Dali, whose work was less about the big picture and more about the ideas of things, and you can assume he was in his head all the time.” Gray blinks at me a few times and I think I said something wrong. I murmur, “What? What is it?”
He throws his black head back and laughs, showing off flashing white teeth.
“Well, sweetheart, you basically just explained humanity in a nutshell.”
I start in surprise.
“I did?”
He nods.
“For instance, I date women in my social set who make themselves feel better by wearing the latest designer clothes or have the most exclusive handbag. They expect me to be impressed by their effort to look a certain way, but I couldn’t be more bored by their attempts because what they value means absolutely nothing to me. Like Dali expresses, their outfits only have perceived value in their own heads.”
I smile hesitantly.
“Well, then what means something to you?”
Gray gets a contemplative look on his face, and his fingers toy with the label on the Kombuchaid bottle.
“Contributing to the world. Making a difference. It probably sounds grandiose to you –”
“Not really,” I interject quickly. He smiles again.
“But I always thought health was a good place to start. That’s part of why I wanted to start my business.”
“Fizzy flavored tea to save the planet?” I tease.
He stares me down, and then something inside cracks and he laughs as well.
“Well, human health and physical fitness are a starting point, but it’s not the end of my journey of making the world a better place.”
I smile at him, so impressed.
“What’s next for the mighty Gray Jamison then? You’ve already accomplished so much, so really, the sky’s the limit.”
He looks me over and there’s an understanding there. Is it my imagination, or are we actually having an adult conversation where we talk about hopes, dreams, and goals? It makes me feel like I’m on his level, and not a little girl he’s catering to.
But Gray merely grins again.
“I have plans. You’ll see.” His sips his Ginger Bliss, and then turns to me again. “So, does your dad know that you love art, and hate marketing? Or is Brent completely in the dark?”
I sigh.
“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, it feels like he’s hellbent on me working at Kombuchaid and carrying on the family business, even if I don’t want to.”