Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Waste his time. That’ll be fun for you,” I say.
Renn groans.
“Be nice to Calvin on your way out,” I say. “Otherwise, I’ll have Ford assign him to your details.”
The sun dips behind the trees as my brothers step onto the porch. I gaze across the lawn, inhaling a lungful of clean air. Renn and Tate chatter back and forth as they head to the driveway.
“The bet stands,” Tate says, opening his car door. “I’ll be researching charities. I might go for something new this time. Maybe an animal rescue or a clean water initiative.”
“Fuck off,” I say.
“Love you, too.” He laughs. “See you later.”
“Later.”
“Bye, Jase,” Renn says.
“Bye.”
I shut the door and lock it, wishing I could lock out the non-possibilities from floating through my head … along with Tate’s words.
“You’re hardheaded as fuck. You’re used to being in control … of situations, airplanes, and corporations. We don’t help your hero complex because we defer to you, too.”
This is true and not new information. I’ve known this for years. But what gets me—what rubs me the wrong way—is that Tate seems to think I’m destined for a life alone. Does he think I’m incapable of love? Or unlovable?
I hate that it bothers me, but it does. And I can’t deny that I wish this were a bet I could win.
I groan and head back to my office.
But I can’t deny it’s impossible to win this one, either.
Chapter 6
Chloe
“No, Mr. Rigglen, I’m sorry. Mr. Brewer is unavailable next week,” I say, glancing at Jason’s calendar again. “The only dates available are the ones I included in my email.”
“None of those work for me. I suggest Monday the thirteenth or the following Thursday. Pick one.”
Excuse freaking me? “Your suggestions have been noted,” I say, looking up as Jason waltzes through the door. I press a finger to my lips and then point at the glowing speakerphone light on my phone. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but the thirteenth and the following Thursday don’t work with Mr. Brewer’s schedule. I know this meeting is very important to you, and I’m doing my best to squeeze you in as soon as possible.”
Mr. Rigglen sighs roughly, making his displeasure clear. I want to worsen his displeasure by shoving his suggestions where the sun doesn’t shine. Instead, I paint a smile on my lips because it’s harder to be mean when you’re smiling, and I take a long, deep breath.
Jason leans against the corner of my desk and watches me with bright, assessing eyes. He sets an iced vanilla latte next to my cell phone.
“Thank you,” I mouth to him. He winks at me in return.
“Listen, Miss Goodman, I understand your boss is a busy man,” Mr. Rigglen says. “We all are. But he rejected our proposal, and I’m entitled to an explanation.”
Jason’s brows lift. Something about his reaction—how he steels himself in place—makes me fidget.
“Again, I apologize for the inconvenience—”
“It’s not a fucking inconvenience, and you better—”
His words are cut off by my office phone scraping against the desk as Jason drags it to him.
“Do you want to say that again?” Jason’s jaw flexes as he stares daggers into the poor handset.
“Mr. Brewer?” Rigglen’s voice is full of surprise. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“Listen to me,” Jason says, his words pulsing. “Don’t ever call my office and talk to my assistant like that again.”
“I … I’m sorry. My emotions got the best of me.”
Jason’s fingers flex against the desktop. “I was going to call you this afternoon and offer you an alternative contract that doubled the scope.”
If a pin dropped, it would sound like an explosion.
I lean back, my heart pounding.
“But now?” Jason’s hand hovers over the phone. “You can go fuck yourself.”
“Mr. Brewer, I—”
He punches the button to end the call and slowly moves the handset back to its original position.
“Well, okay then,” I say, unsure how to break the tension. “Bad morning?”
“Great morning, actually. You?”
I giggle, thrown by the sharp change in direction. “The word great is a bit much, but I could say good and feel solid about it.”
He stands, gives me a killer smile, and rolls his sleeves to his elbows. The sight of his thick and muscled forearms makes my mouth water.
Something is inherently sexy about a man’s arms. That’s especially true when they’re strong enough to throw you over their shoulder and carry you to bed but gentle enough to cradle a baby in the middle of the night. I’m not sure I’ll ever be in my baby era, but his arms make my ovaries ache.
And, for some reason, I think he knows that.
“It’s been a very productive day so far,” I say, focusing on his schedule and not his arm porn. “Your travel arrangements are set for Vegas this weekend. Renn’s penthouse was available, so I arranged for you to stay there. The aviation maintenance reports came in. I organized them and put them in a folder on your desk. I don’t know why they can’t start filing those electronically.” I make a face in exasperation but keep moving. “Tate was here. I tried not to let him enter your office, but he’s stronger than me. He started talking about all sorts of things to distract me, and it worked. So Godspeed on that.”