Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
My brows rose. “Why’s that?”
She looked at her phone and started tapping away.
My phone buzzed, and I looked down at the screen to see that I was in a group chat with Maven and an unfamiliar number.
Maven:
Becky, this is Maven. You were talking to me about a job you were looking for, and I think I might’ve found the perfect one for you. This is my sister, Milena. She owns a coffee shop. It’s called The Grizzly. Come down and meet her!
“Her dad’s someone important. I’m not sure who, or why, but…”
Becky:
I can only work really early hours. Five to maybe ten a.m. I have classes at eleven.
Me:
That’s perfect. Come apply.
Becky:
OMW
“That’s teenage speak for ‘on my way.’” Maven snickered.
“I feel like this might be too good to be true,” I admitted.
Maven shrugged. “She worked really well when she came in with one of my other workers for the day. They’re best friends. I don’t need another helper, or I might’ve hired her myself. I really gotta go, though. I have to stop next door at the bakery before I leave,” she relayed.
I waved her off and watched her go out of the coffee shop doors, then walk right through the bakery doors.
Years ago, when we’d first started talking about attaching my coffee shop to her bakery, it’d been a pipe dream. Something we’d thought might never come to fruition.
However, last year, both Auden and Shasha had brought it up, and Shasha had run with it.
Now, we had a brand new, state-of-the-art building.
On the left side was her now-finished bakery, and on the right was my coffee shop.
Maven’s staff had made the move with her.
Mine had, like always, flaked out on me.
Though, I couldn’t blame them really.
We’d gone from having the coffee shop in Dallas to about twenty-two minutes east of Dallas in Sunnyvale.
Most of my workers didn’t want to drive five minutes, let alone twenty to get to work.
Hence the interviews.
I turned to survey the bare walls of the coffee shop.
Just as I was daydreaming on what it would look like, I heard the door swish open behind me.
Expecting it to be Maven again, I didn’t turn around, and instead said, “Please, please tell me you came bearing gifts. I could really go for a pastry right now.”
“Sorry,” a deep, very delicious sounding male voice said from behind me. “No pastries, but I see that there’s a bakery next door.”
I whirled around, my black hair swirling with me, and stared at the man behind me.
“I…” I started to say, but recognition hit, and my voice fell off.
It was him.
The man that’d saved me last night from Asher.
I opened my mouth, then closed it, unable to get words out.
“See you’re lookin’ a little better today than you were last night. All those tears made your face really red and blotchy, and the mascara that was melting down your face wasn’t the best look…” he rumbled.
I snorted, unable to stop myself. “No, I’m not a very pretty crier.”
“No.” He chuckled. “You aren’t.”
He came up to me then, offering me his hand.
I took it, amazed by just how large it was.
Last night when I’d extended mine to his, I hadn’t been thinking about how big his hand was, or how masculine. I didn’t notice the roughness of his calluses or the way his fingers felt so damn strong.
I’d been thinking about getting away from Asher and nothing else.
But today, when fear wasn’t overpowering me, I could take in all the features I’d skipped over last night.
The man was tall, as in well over six foot.
He was very muscular, and the way his white t-shirt stretched over those muscles was nothing short of delicious.
He had abs. Abs that I could see through a hole in his white t-shirt.
Not a big one, but enough of a hole that I could see definition.
His jeans were well worn. Both with the way he wore them—my god, he could fill out a pair of jeans—and the way they looked like they’d been worn so many times that they were one wash away from being unwearable.
He had on brown work boots that had wood dust in the crevices, and my goodness, the size of his feet…
“I’m sorry. For last night. I was a little distraught,” I said to cover up my perusal of his delectable body.
Fresh off a breakup, and I was already eating someone up with my eyes.
Though, you’d have to be fuckin’ dead not to eat this man’s body up.
“It’s okay,” he returned. “I think that you’re allowed to be distraught when you’re being rode around on a bike going way too fast for your comfort. He gives the rest of us a bad name.”
“Well, Mr. Clayborne, you’ll be happy to know that my brothers will kill him if he ever comes close to me again, so I’m good,” I shared.