Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Lauren is busy,” he snaps. “She doesn’t have time to eat lunch.”
I hiss between my teeth and tap my finger on the marble slab of her desk. “Tsk, tsk. That’s an HR violation, Rome. She has to have some sort of break.”
“She can eat and work at her desk like everyone else does.” He turns his gaze back to Lauren and says, “I’ll pay you extra. Bounce these files for me and get them back ASAP.”
Spinning on his heel, he doesn’t say another word as he makes his way back to his office, fingers of his right hand pulling on the brown strands of his dark hair.
A little shocked, I turn to Lauren and ask, “What the hell was that about?”
She sighs and leans back in her chair, looking deflated and tired. “Shit hit the fan this morning.”
“I can see that. What happened?”
“Project Mountain announced a new women’s line this morning, almost an exact replica to what we’re putting out there. So similar that Rome thinks there might be a mole in the company.”
Oh. Shit.
I glance toward his office—he’s fuming, sitting at his desk, head gripped in his hands, the tension radiating from his body palpable from where I stand. This must be killing him.
I don’t blame him for being a moody bastard.
Given I’m heading up the marketing for his women’s campaign, it’s my duty to go in there and see what I can do.
Not because I hate seeing him like this.
Not because I want to comfort him, hold him.
But because it’s my duty.
“Raincheck on lunch?”
Lauren scans her desk full of papers. “Looks like it. I’m so sorry.”
I wave her off. “Don’t be. I totally get it.” Sometimes Rome is tyrannical, but it looks like today he has a good reason. “I’m going to go see if there is anything I can do on my end marketing-wise to help the situation. Thanks for filling me in.”
“Good luck. He’s been a complete bastard today. For a second there, I thought maybe he was different, a little happier, you know? He’s been in a really good mood lately; even brought me coffee and lunch a few times this week. Me. I almost fell out of my chair the first time he did it. But today just reminds me of the man he really is.”
I hide the smile that wants to play at my lips. I like to think that maybe I’m the reason he’s been a little cheerier and happy, metaphorically loosening that tight tie around his neck. Right about now, I want to loosen it even more.
“Cut him some slack. I’m sure he’s dealing with a lot right now.” His stress level must be through the roof. “Text me when you can reschedule?”
Lauren nods. “I will.”
I give the counter a few raps with my knuckles and throw a little wave at her with my fingers, pushing through Rome’s heavy glass door without knocking.
Close it behind me, careful not to make a bunch of noise.
Keeping his head tilted down, he lifts his eyes and spots me. Letting out a long exhale, he leans back in his chair and tries to act as casual as possible, but I see right through him.
“I’m busy, Peyton.”
“So I’ve heard.” I make my way around his desk, set my purse down on the floor, and prop my body up on the edge, staring directly down at him. His cologne relaxes my nerves—just the smell of him does—the vulnerability in his eyes reminding me that he is, in fact, human despite the terse façade he likes to wear. I’m no longer an employee of his company, and have no cause to be intimidated. This passionate man needs some propping up. And I can at least do that.
His fingernails rake over his stubble as he makes no attempt to hide his blatant once-over of my body, his eyes lingering on my chest before they fall to my lips. Involuntarily I lick them. His eyes darken, become more sinister.
“It’s best you leave, Peyton.”
“Why?” My breath starts to pick up as Rome shifts in his seat, the V of his shirt falling open revealing the tan, smooth skin of his clavicle and collarbone—two of my favorite spots on a man’s body.
“Because I’m shitty company. I need to get work done, and right now, you’re a distraction.”
“A distraction?” I mock surprise. “I’m here to see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“You don’t work here anymore; you’re not obligated to stick around and help me.” He licks his lips, reaches over to his desk, and presses a button. I know exactly what that button does. I’ve seen it done plenty of times when he has important meetings in his office. It tints the windows.
My heart rate picks up to a sprinting beat, my chest rises and falls, my breasts stretching the already tight fabric of my button-down blouse.