Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 22937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
I hesitate, and he takes that as defiance, torturing my clit with a harder rhythm, punishing my mouth with an even deeper kiss.
Whispering against my mouth, he commands, “I’m not going to ask you again...”
Ding!
The sound of the elevator makes us tear apart, shattering our moment.
He adjusts his pants, and I adjust mine, too.
“You can leave here with me for drinks,” he says, his voice low as footsteps sound from afar. “I’ll bring you right back.”
“I can’t, Jameson.”
“I’ll write the temp agency a letter,” he says. “Hell, I can move you to another department if you like.”
“No bar in this city will let me in.” I realize he won’t let it go. “It has nothing to do with my job.”
“Are you on a banned list or something?” He shrugs. “It’s not like you’re underage.”
“I’m twenty.”
His eyes widen. “Twenty what?”
“Just twenty.”
“As in legally underage?”
“You’re making it more dramatic than it really is…”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“If I did, would you have told me the truth?”
“Probably not,” I admit. “No...”
He lets out a sigh and steps back.
“Have a good night, Scarlett,” he says. “Let’s not talk for a while.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to think hard on some things.”
“You think I’m too young for you?”
“No, I know that.”
“My birthday is in a few weeks.”
“Then I hope you’ll enjoy it with your other barely legal friends.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Good night, Scarlett. Don’t call me.”
He walks away, and before I can go after him, Mr. Brice rounds the corner.
UNCONSCIONABLE (ADJ.):
REFERRING TO A CONTRACT OR BARGAIN WHICH IS SO UNFAIR TO A PARTY THAT NO REASONABLE OR INFORMED PERSON WOULD AGREE TO IT.
JAMESON
Ialmost fucked a twenty-year-old...
I add a shot of whiskey to my coffee and lean back in my chair.
From the look in Scarlett’s eyes and the way she touched me in return, she would’ve been bent over on all fours if we hadn’t been interrupted.
A small part of me—very tiny, damn near minuscule—wants to believe it was for the best.
I type “Research the fuck out of Scarlett—a temp contract employee here—then tell me everything,” and then I send it to Rachel’s task list for Monday.
My office door swings open and the head cleaning engineer, Mr. Brice, steps in with his usual box.
“Sorry about our late finish today, Mr. Tate,” he says. “It won’t happen again.”
“Don’t mention it. You do a great job managing things.”
“Well, it’s just been ‘okay’ lately if I’m being honest.” He sighs. “We’ve had a full crew turnover this past month, but the new temp agency girls—especially Scarlett—are one hell of a find.”
“Scarlett from marketing?” I tilt my head to the side. “She helps you with janitorial service as well?”
“No, just janitorial.” He places a clipboard on my desk. “It’s rare you can find a woman who can actually buff a marble floor so well, you know?”
No, I don’t know.
“Here’s where we stand on everything since you mentioned you’ll be having some staff-wide all-nighters soon…”
The rest of his words come in muted, and I mentally rewind every fucking frame Scarlett and I have ever shared.
Necessary lies are one thing, but her constant piecemeal secrets are another.
“I need to make some staff and scheduling changes to our contract,” I say to Mr. Brice. “Do you have a moment?”
HEAT OF PASSION (N.):
IN A CRIMINAL CASE, WHEN THE ACCUSED WAS IN AN UNCONTROLLABLE RAGE AT THE TIME OF COMMISSION OF THE ALLEGED CRIME
SCARLETT
The sign on Jameson’s firm has all its letters lit now, and instead of their former faint white glow, they’re welcoming me to enter Tate & Associates in a soft blue.
Since he hasn’t answered my last few text messages, I’ve tumbled down the rabbit hole of researching him and his career.
His twelve-year reputation for winning was the standout fact. I found a few heartwarming cases and headlines, but scattered among them were more questionable bylines that skewered him for “stealing a soul away from Hell.”
I didn’t want to believe any of those articles—but the more I read about his clients’ crimes, the more I noticed his obvious pattern.
The guiltier, the better.
And I didn’t understand how the same man who was willing to help save me from a bad loan would willingly represent the type of people who set it up.
Bookmarking a page on a recent drug-bust client, I slip into the janitorial closet and grab my cart.
“What are you doing here, Scarlett?” Mr. Brice looks up from his notebook as I approach.
“Just grabbing my cart, sir.”
“I meant in this building.” He smiles. “You were reassigned after your last shift.”
“Huh? What do you mean reassigned?”
“Apparently, Mr. Tate is looking into moving you into a part-time clerical position here at the firm,” he says. “You must’ve put that on your temp agency application?”
So he knows…? I can feel all the color draining from my face, feel my knees going weak.
“He’d much prefer if you did your cleaning work at the firm’s library that’s across the street. Effective immediately.”