Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“If things go well between us,” I say. “Eventually.”
She hums, obviously pleased, and I can tell she’s grinning smugly.
“Well, I won’t keep you away from your girlfriend then,” she says. “Have a good night, Nicky. Love you.”
I don’t correct her on her assumption that Riley is my girlfriend. The title feels juvenile. We’re certainly not at the point where Riley would assume she’s my girlfriend, but whether she knows it or not, she is mine.
“Night, Ma. I love you too.”
She’s the only person I’ve said those words to in years, and that’s how I like it. I don’t need to be soft with anyone but my mother. We hang up and I pull up my thread with Riley, seeing that she sent me another text after I put my phone down.
Riley: I think it’s time for me to hit the hay, I’m exhausted. Sleep well, I hope you have sweet dreams and that tomorrow is a good day! I’ll talk to you soon?
It’s sugar sweet, and I’d roll my eyes and sneer at it if the message came from anyone else. From her, though, I know it’s completely sincere.
It’s adorable.
I wish I could be the reason she was exhausted, fuck her until she couldn’t keep her eyes open for a second longer before tucking her in for the night. Instead of telling her that, I tap out a short message, smiling as I send it.
Nick: We’ll talk soon. Goodnight, Miss Morgan.
CHAPTER 4
RILEY
The last thing I’d expected was to have my mystery man text me the other night, but he did. And the text kept coming in all weekend long. Everything he said kept me jumping at my phone every time it chimed with a notification, something I never thought was going to happen with a guy.
Then again, it has been a while since I’ve had a man interested in me like this.
Part of me wanted to call Taylor to tell her what had happened, but I didn’t. I don’t want her to get overly excited or too involved. She has good intentions, but sometimes those intentions are overbearing.
As much as I wish I could have stayed in bed all day texting him, the new workweek came rushing in with a bang.
My Monday starts off perfectly normal and goes rapidly downhill from there.
The second Sloane comes into the office—an hour late—everyone can tell she’s in a piss-poor mood. My coworker, Cassie, and I share a glance and a sigh before I immediately rush to my desk in the hopes of not being selected as her punching bag for the day.
Cassie’s lucky she’s not on this floor. She scampers away quickly.
Me? Not so much.
The second I pull up the spreadsheets I’ll be working on, a hand appears between my nose and my computer screen, snapping impatiently. My eyes cross at the sight of long-tipped, bright red nails waving in front of my face, and I flinch back.
“Um, hello?”
“Congratulations,” Sloane sneers, pulling her hand back before resting it on her waist, glaring down at me past her long false lashes.
I rack my mind for what she could be talking about, as well as any explanation for why she decided to snap at me like a dog instead of getting my attention by speaking to me. You know, like a person.
“Sorry?” I ask hesitantly, unsure if I’m offering an apology or a request for clarification.
“You were selected to take lead on analytics for the new app and the Fourneaux files,” she drawls. “I passed on them, obviously. You newbies need to learn how to handle bigger clients so I don’t have to deal with them all on my own.”
I clench my jaw to stop myself from calling out her obvious lie as she checks her nails in a show of faux carelessness. She’s so pissed I can damn near taste it.
“You’re welcome,” she hisses, sneering down her nose at me, red lips curled up in annoyance.
“Thank you,” I respond on instinct. “I won’t let you down.”
She waves me off with a roll of her eyes. “Whatever.” The stack of papers she had tucked under one arm is tossed closer to my face than my desk. I jerk back to avoid getting a paper cut on my cheek. “Oops. Sorry, my hand slipped.”
I force a smile and gather the papers up from my lap, tidying them into a neat stack. “No problem,” I grit out.
“You need to go get those signed by Nick, he doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she says archly, offering a put-upon sigh when I blink up at her. “Right, you don’t have clearance to the upper floors. God, I have to do everything around here.”
I’m tempted to ask her if Mr. D’Amico knows she calls him Nick, but I keep the words safely trapped in my mind instead of spitting them at her.