Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 30858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Please continue working as usual.
Happy holidays,
Nicholas Saint
This man can’t be serious…
So, Francis…how open would you be to helping me egg the fuck out of Mr. Saint’s car tonight?
Like, scale of one to ten?
I’ll do all the work—just drop me off so I can—
“Miss Dawson?” Mr. Saint’s deep voice startled me, making me look up before I could finish my message. “Is that you?”
“No. Not at all.” I returned my envelope to the bottom of the stack. “If you put on your contacts, you’ll see it’s someone else.”
“It sounds like you.”
“It’s not me. I’m not Jenna.”
His low laugh sent unwanted butterflies fluttering in my stomach, and before I could slip through the emergency exit, he strolled toward me.
His deep green gaze pinned me to the spot, daring me to move. Swallowing, I pretended my heart wasn’t skipping a beat with his every step.
When he was finally in front of me, close enough for me to reach out and touch, I could see why every woman who caught a glimpse of him did a slow double take.
“What was that in your hand?” he asked. “It looked like you were reading something.”
“My phone?” I held it up. “I was texting Francis.”
“I’m talking about before that,” he said. “It looked like one of my envelopes…”
“I should schedule another eye exam for you, then,” I said. “You did mention your eyes would start to wane like your father’s eventually.”
“So, you weren’t looking at my lists?” He smirked, making my stomach flip again.
“I really need to find a body that’s loyal to my brain.”
“Come again, Miss Dawson?”
“Nothing.” My cheeks heated. “I wasn’t looking at your lists. I was just checking on things like you said.”
“Hmmm.” He didn’t look like he believed me at all. “Well, if you want to open your envelope before anyone else arrives, I’ll allow it.”
“That’s okay. I can totally wait.”
“Then can you hand it to me, please?”
“Um…no, uh—I think someone in the secretarial department must’ve left it out. It’s not here.”
“So you were looking for it?”
“I refuse to confirm or deny.”
“Hmmm.” He stepped around me, gently tugging the envelope from the stack. “Looks like it’s opened.”
“It opened itself.”
“Well, in that case, I’m sorry I won’t be able to give you a bonus.” He smiled, not looking sorry at all. “But if you’re nicer to me next year, maybe things will change.”
“I could’ve sworn the nice list was performance-based.” I crossed my arms.
“It is.”
“Then I should’ve been the first person to receive a bonus.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” I glared at him. “Oh.”
“So, you talking shit about me to your cousins back home for hours every night was nice?” He closed the gap between us. “And you purposely one-starring every restaurant and business I own in this city is nice as well?”
“I…” My cheeks were on fire. I had no idea he knew about any of that.
“Your work is definitely ‘nice,’ Miss Dawson,” he said, his forehead nearly brushing against mine, “but it’s obvious that you hate me. So I don’t think it would be fair to put you anywhere else except the naughty list. Don’t you think?”
“I didn’t talk that much shit about you…”
“I don’t talk shit about you at all.” He tipped my chin up with his fingertips, and I leaned closer, and for a moment, I thought he would kiss me.
And I would totally let him.
“Can you please stick to the fucking tasks I tell you to do for the rest of the day?” he said, shattering any notion of romance. “I can’t afford missteps from now through the next twelve months, and if anyone should know that, it’s you.”
He immediately tore away from me, leaving me bereft, and headed toward the closest exit door.
“Oh, and Miss Dawson?” He looked over his shoulder.
“Yes?”
“I forgot to give you a thank you.”
“For what?”
“For making it clear that I made the right decision to put you on the naughty list.” He smirked. “You’re welcome.”
—
ONE YEAR LATER
2
NICHOLAS
How Nicholas Saint Ruined Christmas (Candy)
The worst mistake I ever made as CEO of this sweets company was not the hateful headline that was currently staring at me from this morning’s issue of Business, Inc. Magazine. Nor was it the overhiring of employees or shutting down half of our confection centers last holiday season.
It was hiring Jenna Marie Dawson.
Full stop.
I’d been looking for ways to fire her since the day she started—since the day she started distracting me with her fitted dresses and smart-ass mouth—but she was too damn good at her job.
Way too damn good…
Thanks to her, I’d broken the world record for blue balls, and if it hadn’t been for the fact that my upcoming inheritance payout loomed over me never having a single scandal in years, I would’ve bent her over my desk ages ago.
One week left, Nicholas. One more week.
“Mr. Saint?” My receptionist stepped into my office.
“Yes?”
“Miss Dawson is finally done with her morning meeting.”