Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
“If you do jobs for me, then I get to pay you. That’s how it works!”
Did she have to be so sexy when she yelled at him? Her cheeks flushed that perfect pink that made his pulse hammer against his throat.
Get your head out of the gutter, Hawthorne!
He scowled. “Why are you yelling at me?”
“Why aren’t you cashing your paychecks?”
He shrugged, blurting out the first lame excuse that came to mind. “The bank’s on the other side of town.”
“Don’t give me that crap!” She flung her hair out of her face, cheeks tinged with the same pink that colored her nipples whenever she got heated. “I reviewed all my bank statements. You’ve been doing this for years. Years, Greyson!”
He wondered how she managed to run a business if she missed such an enormous clerical error. “You should keep a better eye on your books—”
“That’s not the point!”
“What do you want me to say, Wren?”
“I want you to fix it.”
He gave her a stern look that said that wouldn’t happen. If she didn’t realize he wasn’t cashing his checks, she likely spent the money elsewhere. The sum of money he’d let slide over the years would add up to a fortune by now. He couldn’t bury her in that sort of debt.
“I always tell you I don’t want your money.”
“If you don’t let me pay you, Greyson, I’m going to start hiring someone else.”
His jaw locked, muscles tensing with territorial fury. Like he’d let someone else do the jobs he did for her. She’d get ripped off left and right, not because she wasn’t sharp, but because most contractors overpriced their work and took advantage of anyone with limited options. It was extortion. His prices were reasonable and fair, even if he didn’t take the money.
Done with this argument, he walked away from her. “That’s not happening.”
“Where are you going?” She followed him into his bedroom, her footsteps quick and determined. “You don’t get to decide what does and doesn’t happen in my business, Grey. This is my company, and I choose how it’s run.”
He yanked open a drawer and pulled out a pair of jeans, the denim rough against his damp hands. “And I’m running my business. I choose how I charge. Same difference.” He stepped into the jeans, pulling them up as he yanked off his towel.
“Oh!” She covered her eyes and spun around. He hoped she got an eyeful.
“This argument is over, Wren. I worked all day, and I just ordered dinner. I’m hungry—“
“No, this discussion is just getting started. It ends when we reach a compromise.”
He yanked up his zipper and closed the distance between them in two strides, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. “The compromise will be you choose what to pay me, and I choose what to do with my money.” His voice dropped to dangerous quiet. “The. End.”
Her shoulders shook with frustration. “Are you dressed yet?”
“Yes.”
She pivoted and drew back. Angling her chin up, she glared at him with fire in her eyes. “That’s not fair, Greyson. You’re actually losing money on supply costs—“
He took a step closer, purposely crowding her until her back nearly touched the wall. He couldn’t intimidate her—she knew him too well for that—but, this time, she wasn’t getting her way. “It’s fair enough.”
“No, it’s not. The materials alone... Your labor...”
He wondered how anyone could have that much hair. Distracted by her long braid, he remembered his earlier years on fishing boats and recalled his father teaching him and his brothers all about nautical knots. Some part of him ached to braid her hair a thousand different ways, simply because he knew how.
“Are you listening to me?”
“No.”
“Damn it, Greyson!”
He grabbed the braid, sliding the thick length through his hand like silk rope and tugging her closer, the texture soft against his calloused palm.
“I...” She lost her train of thought, pupils dilating as her breath caught.
Good. He liked seeing her all worked up, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with anger. “You what?”
“I...”
He followed the braid to the tapered end, just above her ribs, and let his fingers linger there, feeling the rapid rise and fall of her breathing.
Her breath hitched. “Greyson...” She looked up at him in question, confusion and desire warring in her expression. “We’re having a fight.”
“No, we’re not.”
He told himself this wouldn’t happen again, but then she stormed into his home, feisty and hot-tempered, and he forgot why he made such a promise. He could throw her onto his bed and bury himself inside of her in two seconds flat.
Would she stop him?
Given the current trend, probably not.
His cock throbbed at the possibility and he swallowed hard. The temptation only an inch away. His bed a mere ten feet. He pictured the tight grip of heat and—“You shouldn’t have come here.”
She noticeably swallowed, her shoulders lifting with each shallow breath. “Why?”