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)
“No. He told me to be good,” I correct her, kicking her foot lightly beneath the table.
Not that I wouldn’t have minded him calling me a good girl.
She shrugs an elegant shoulder, grinning wickedly. “My point is that a gorgeous man asked you out and immediately texted you, and you’re still wondering if he was hitting on you.”
I pout, stealing a chip from her plate and pointing at her with it.
“Immediately texted me, to which I texted back, and then hasn’t texted me again since.”
Taylor rolls her pretty green eyes at me affectionately, stealing a French fry from my plate, mirroring my movements.
“So text him again,” she tells me. “Guys like forward women.”
I snort as she pops the fry into her mouth.
“Oh yeah, me, famously the most forward person on the planet,” I drawl.
Taylor chuckles, leaning back in the rickety plastic chair and stretching her long arms above her head.
“Look, Riles, you thought this guy was hot, yeah?” I nod. “And he obviously thought you were too. Just text him. Worst case, it’s a blow to your ego. Best case, he’s some mega-rich guy who was slammed with work and falls head over heels for you. What do you have to lose?”
My dignity by looking desperate and ridiculous?
I groan, not wanting to admit that she has a point. Flirting in person is hard enough; I have no idea where to start with flirting over text.
“He was probably just being nice.”
“Men aren’t nice to women they don’t want to fuck,” she says drily.
“Okay, Miss Pessimist,” I reply with a chuckle.
She leans over the table to squeeze my hand affectionately, her chunky gold rings glittering under the fluorescent lights of the cafe. “Look, I haven’t even met this guy—he could be a total loser, but I’m willing to make an exception and tell you to go after it just this once. It’s just texting. You can disappear if he starts getting weird. Honestly, I’m willing to take anything if it helps you get over your crush on D’Amico.”
My cheeks flare in embarrassment, but it’s not like I didn’t know where this was going. Taylor’s been trying to get me to give up on my boss since I first mentioned it. I’ve been obsessed with him since first glance when I was still interning for D’Amico Global.
“Hush! I’m never telling you about my crushes again.”
Taylor laughs fondly, but any response she’d have offered is cut by our alarms going off in tandem.
“Whoever suggested thirty-minute lunch breaks is a monster,” Taylor grumbles.
We gather our trays and toss our trash before heading back outside into the chilly streets. The snow has long since melted, but the nip of winter hasn’t quite left the air yet.
“Don’t work too hard,” she tells me. “Text me later. And text your mystery man too!”
“Whatever you say!” I say with a laugh.
We go our separate ways, heading back to our respective offices, and I enjoy the fresh air until I make it back to the office. The elevator is crowded with people so I huddle in among them, listening to their random small talk as background noise. The trip from the elevator to my cubicle is short, and I clock back in as I clear my head of any talks about mystery men or my boss.
I can think about my mystery man all I want when I’m off work, but for now, I’ve got plenty to focus on.
A fresh stack of files is on my desk when I step into my cubicle. I frown as I leaf through them, immediately recognizing Sloane’s sloppy work. Lovely. A sticky note rests on top of them, instructing me to take them up to Mr. D’Amico’s office for him to review.
We have interns to run these sorts of errands.
If I refuse, Sloane is sure to throw a hissy fit. That’s the last thing I want to deal with right now. I gather them up in my arms, along with the risk analysis and financial approval I need signatures on, and hurry back toward the elevator.
The executive’s offices are on the top floor, but my badge clearance doesn’t allow me past the thirtieth. Thankfully, the security guard knows me and lets me up without much of a hassle when I tell him I have files for Mr. D’Amico.
It doesn’t take long to get to the top floor, and I march down the hallway toward my CEO’s office without giving myself a moment to overthink.
I smooth out my skirt, making sure it lies flat just below my knees, and straighten my glasses before reaching one hand up to knock on the solid wood door. Here goes nothing.
“Come in.”
I take a calming breath before stepping in, knowing that the sight of Nick behind his desk will set my heart racing. No matter how many times I may call him Mr. D’Amico in person, I like to think of him as Nick in the very private recesses of my mind.