Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“Not surprised about that,” he mutters through a tight jaw. “You looked pretty occupied.”
Huh? Is it just me, or does it feel like I’m the last person Bennett Bishop wants to be around right now? After my three days of working for him and actually getting along with him, his current stone-faced demeanor is giving me whiplash. I mean, I was just in his studio with him and Summer this afternoon, and everything felt…good. It felt relaxed.
But this feels loaded.
He doesn’t give my brain time to catch up before he’s tossing a question at me. “How much have you had?”
“How much have I had?” I repeat, my mouth full of bewilderment. “What are you—”
“To drink.” He steps closer to me, leaning down to meet my eyes. “How much have you had to drink, Norah?”
“Uh…not much.”
“How much is not much?” he continues, and someone slather butter on me because I’m a kabob being grilled. “I sure as shit hope you’re not planning on driving home tonight.”
Jeez Louise. What’s his problem?
“Relax, Dad,” I tease, trying to lighten his mood. “I’m being a good girl. Only had two glasses of wine.”
It doesn’t work.
“I think it’s time you cut yourself off,” he comments, and his smile isn’t really a smile at all. It’s an accusation. “Otherwise, you might give that sheep farmer exactly what he wants.”
“Sheep farmer?” Is he talking about Talkative Tad?
“You know who I’m talking about. You’ve been up his ass since I got here.”
My jaw might as well hit the floor.
“Up his ass?” I question on a scoff, stepping back to lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t think so.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to pretend on my account.” Bennett steps even closer to me and surprises me by reaching forward to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. His fingers are gentle—tender, even—but his eyes are the exact opposite. They hold an edge of silent interrogation. “Farmer Ted is working hard to get into your panties tonight, and by the looks of it, you don’t mind one bit.”
If my eyes get any wider right now, they’ll consume my whole face. Seriously. I’d just be a head with two eyeballs. “His name is Tad, not Ted. And he’s not trying to get into my panties.” Frankly, he’s too busy trying to get me to sing karaoke and talking about his sheep.
Bennett smirks and rests one hand on the wall beside my head. He leans closer and drops his voice to a whisper. “Yeah, sweetheart. That’s exactly what he’s trying to do.”
He’s so close, I can make out the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. And the smell of his cologne invades my nostrils, filling my head with cedar and cinnamon and soft vanilla all at once.
I hate how good he smells. Technically, you hate how much you love it.
“He’s just being friendly,” I attempt to redirect my thoughts and this insane conversation. I don’t know what crawled up Bennett’s ass tonight, but I’m starting to get pretty ticked off that I’m on the receiving end of his ire when I know I don’t deserve to be.
I’ve done nothing wrong besides exist and butcher one of Garth Brooks’s most popular songs.
“Friendly?” His laugh is devoid of comedy. “Is that a newfangled word for trying to fuck you?”
One second, I’m standing there, listening to Bennett spout bullshit in my direction. And the next, my palm finds its way to his cheek with a loud smack.
Holy shit! What are you doing? You just smacked Bennett—your new boss—in the face!
Déjà vu hits me like a truck. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this, but the biggest difference is that now, he’s my employer. The man whose assistant job has finally made me feel like I am really turning my life around.
You idiot!
“Oh my God. I…I…I…” I open and close my mouth several times, unsure of what to say or do. A thousand apologies sit on my lips, but when I see that Bennett is just standing there, smirking down at me, I clamp my lips closed.
And when he says, “Did I strike a nerve, sweetheart? You want to fuck the sheep farmer?”
My hand finds its way to his face for a second time.
24
Bennett
My cheek stings from the shock of her palm, and Norah stares up at me with those big brown eyes of hers, the ones I’ve managed to memorize every facet of like the back of my hand.
And when the realization of what I just instigated settles inside the logical part of my mind, my heart takes off at a run, pounding inside my chest. Way to go, you dick.
I’m not even mad that she slapped me. I’m mad that I acted like I cared so much about that dumbass sheep farmer flirting with her and spouted a mouthful of bullshit at her because of it. Being cruel isn’t something I want to be, nor will I ever be proud of it.