Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“I’ve heard of it,” I snap, glaring at him. “Are you going to tell me what you do or not?”
“I’m a venture capitalist.”
“Like on the movie Wedding Crashers?”
“I invest in more than shirts and pants, Penelope.”
“So you put money into people’s ideas?”
“Sometimes. But I prefer to buy them out so I have complete control. If that’s not an option and it’s something I can’t walk away from, I’ll settle for fifty-one percent ownership.”
Fitting. Considering he such a damn control freak.
“Have you ever been on Shark Tank?”
“No.”
Of course he can’t be That Guy and a T.V. star. “Figures…”
“Why does that…figure?”
“No reason. You know,” I turn my head to the side and study him, “I had you pegged as a corporate merger. Like in Pretty Woman.”
He gives me a tight smile. “That would be my grandfather. Whose party we’re already going to be late getting to. You ready?”
“I’m not gonna get any prettier.”
“Figures…” He grins proudly at the opportunity to throw my words back at me.
I roll my eyes. “Aren’t you easily amused.”
With my matching gold clutch tucked away under my arm, I follow him into the foyer. He presses the button for the elevator—eyeing me as we wait. He looks…curious.
“What?”
“I can’t believe you didn’t Google me.”
“Did you Google me?”
“Yes.”
I beam at his short response. “You did? What did it say?”
“Not sure. I got tired of searching after page four.”
My smile turns to a scowl. “That’s pretty cocky coming from a guy who has to buy people’s ideas because he’s not clever enough to come up with his own.”
Surprisingly, he laughs. I’m so taken back by it, I don’t even notice the elevator has arrived. He has to grab my arm and pull me inside before the doors close.
And in the tight space, our close proximity gives me something I’ve been searching for since I first saw him.
His scent.
Have mercy.
I’m like a damn bloodhound.
Seriously.
My nose finds his shoulder and I inhale so deep I can taste the scent of him on the back of my throat. I keep it there instead of the corner of the elevator as we descend. My eyes fall closed and I hum my song—getting a nice whiff of him over and over.
I’m not good at describing scents. I could never put a name to that distinct smell in blood until I read Twilight. Coppery. Metallic. Once Stephenie Meyer explained it to me, I wondered how in the Hell I had never figured it out.
So really, the best I can give you is that he smells exactly like you think a rich, hot guy would smell. Like soap and cologne and man and clean and money. Oh, and some really nice fabric softener. I’m pretty sure that’s Downy.
When we glide to a stop, I’m reluctant to pull away. As I do, I feel his eyes on me.
“What?” I ask, not bothering to look up at him.
“Why did you do that?”
“I have a fear of elevators.”
“Hmm.” Thankfully, it’s all he says.
Alfred meets us at the lobby door. He hands a coat to Jake then holds open a white fur coat for me. I slip my arms inside and nearly come at the feel of it.
“Is this real fur?”
Jake lifts a brow. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
“No. I was just curious.”
…As to how many innocent animals had do die just to keep me warm…
We walk out into the blizzard and I’m thankful for all the rabbits or squirrels or whatever animal was sacrificed just for me. Ross holds open the back door of the car and Jake gestures for me to get in. I clamber inside, nearly ripping my dress and falling on my face, before I finally settle on the seat. Jake follows behind me. All grace and fluid.
“So, are you nervous?” I lean closer and drop my voice. “You know…about me being fake Miss Sims?”
“No.”
“Because you have full confidence in me?”
I’m so close, when he angles his head to look at me, his lips nearly touch my nose. “No.”
“Well, you must be sure I can do the job.”
“I’m sure I can fix whatever you fuck up.”
I roll my eyes and lean back. “You know, since I’m doing you a favor, you could be a little nicer to me.”
“I could put you on an overcrowded bus and ship you back to Mississippi, too.”
“But you won’t. Because you need me. Don’t you?” I tease, giving his ribs a poke with my finger. He doesn’t flinch.
“I don’t need you. I could always go alone.”
“No you can’t.”
“You sound pretty sure of that.”
“I am. Cam told me.”
“Cam has a big mouth,” he mutters, leaning forward to pour himself a drink. He doesn’t even offer me one.
Rude.
I snuggle up to his side and wrap one hand around his bicep and squeeze his thigh with the other. His arms stills. His glass several inches from his mouth. He doesn’t move his body, only cuts his eyes at me.