Total pages in book: 17
Estimated words: 15776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 79(@200wpm)___ 63(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15776 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 79(@200wpm)___ 63(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
“Yes, Mister Porter.” Good. Now with that out of the way, I can go and bring my woman home.
chapter nine
Millicent
Two Weeks Later
So much has happened in the last two weeks. I haven’t had a chance to do anything but deal with this production. I thought it was all going to implode, but I got Jensen Marbury to sign a lucrative five-picture deal with us. He’s replacing the lead actor on The Duke’s Wife. Miles Linton couldn’t or wouldn’t deal with Camilla and Jensen agreed to take over the role. It was an easy swap out since Miles had only filmed two scenes. I went into the meeting with him prepared to beg him to take over the role, he was the one who suggested the deal. He heard about Amour and wanted to be a part of it. I got that deal signed so freaking fast, which is why the studio’s lawyer, is on his way up here now for a meeting to make sure all the I’s are dotted, and the T’s are crossed. I’ve only been in my Atlanta office for about twenty minutes. I know I said I’d wait until filming was over to tell Malcolm, but it’s eating me up inside. I feel awful keeping something like this from him. I don’t want him to think I cheated him out of anything. Something tells me that Malcolm would want to be involved every step of the way.
“Lennon Branch to see you,” Mabel says coming through the intercom.
“Send him up,” I reply. Man, I’ve missed my cushy, super-air-conditioned, offices in Savannah and Atlanta. I look out at the Atlanta skyline. I love it here, but Savannah is home. It’s only March but ever since I got pregnant, I’m so freaking sweaty. Some people say it’s a pregnant woman’s glow, but it’s fucking sweat, straight up. I waft a pile of papers over my face, creating a very much-needed breeze.
My office door is open when Lennon breezes in. My hackles raise when he closes it behind him. He’s not carrying anything. No folders, no briefcase, nothing. I already don’t like this. I move from where I was looking out the window to behind my desk. He advances on me, reaching me before I make it to the relative safety of having three feet of solid oak between us.
“Lennon,” I say cheerfully, though I don’t mean it. Being in this business, I’ve put up with men like this since I was a child. It’s bullshit, but it’s a boys club and they pretty much do whatever they want until they get caught. “It’s nice to see you,” I lie. “Your assistant said you wanted to discuss the compensation level per film for Jensen Marbury. Did you bring the contract?”
“No, doll, I didn’t.” Ugh. So predictable. If I wasn’t pregnant, I’d deck him, but I don’t know what he’d do if I did that.
“So how do you propose we go over it?” I ask, unable to hide the fact that I’m pissed off. Either he’s too dense to notice or he doesn’t care, because he reaches out and trails a finger down my face and then further down my arm, where he grabs me in a tight grip. My skin is actually crawling. I’m actively trying to get his hand off of me using my other hand.
“I’d say any changes we make should be made over cocktails and perhaps hotel room sheets,” he says, and I immediately take a step back, wanting absolutely nothing to do with this fuckery. His employment is about to be terminated. You’d think a corporate lawyer would know about sexual harassment.
“Get your fucking hands off my woman,” a hauntingly familiar voice growls after the door is pushed open. It hit the wall behind it with such force, that it’s still reverberating. I’ve never been so relieved in my life. He looks a little more rumpled than the last time I saw him, but no less handsome.
My thoughts are jumbled as I look at him:
He looks so good.
He looks pissed.
I missed him so much.
I love him.
My panties are instantly wet. It’s almost a Pavlovian response.
chapter ten
Malcolm
“I am sorry sir, but she is in a meeting right now.” Some woman at the makeshift reception desk tells me. She has been saying it for the last twenty minutes and it is really pissing me off. I did not come here to be stalled by a woman at a damn desk. “Good morning. How can I help you?” She asks another gentleman who walks up.
“Yes. I have a meeting with Millicent Huxley. The name is Lennon Branch,” he says, winking at her. The blush on her cheeks is ridiculous, but it is his obvious playboy vibe that has me on alert. I don't like him and something about him is familiar. I am standing here, watching this young punk flirt with the receptionist, and as much as I want to call her out on it, I know this is my chance.