Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Take a look at that,” she says. “I tried to organize it in the most logical way possible. Feel free to adjust it, obviously.”
I scan her notes. “Okay, let’s start day one with something fun. Maybe Raptors trivia, just to break the ice. Let’s do games while the interviews are happening, and let’s do those in groups of three. That’ll give us insight into how they act in a group setting. The games will single out who will partake in activities and who won’t.”
“Oh, that’s smart.”
“I’ve done this before.” I smile. “Granted, I was on the other side of things, but the process is the process.”
“Do you want the choreography for day two to go to everyone on the first day? Or wait and see who gets cut and send it only to those who make it?”
“If they don’t make it to the second day, they don’t need the choreography. Let’s make sure someone tapes the routine, and we’ll send it via text or email to everyone we ask back for day two.”
“Got it.”
I look up at a knock on the door.
“Excuse me, ladies. Am I interrupting?” Tate grins from the doorway.
Does this man ever not look good?
Dark gray pants paired with a crisp white T-shirt make for a striking combination. The man does rock a good white shirt. A black blazer matches a black belt wrapped around his waist. Bright white sneakers tie the look together.
He looks like he walked straight off a runway.
He steps inside my office, and I’m immediately hit with a burst of his cologne. I don’t know whether he wore an extra spritz today, or if I’m just acutely aware of everything about him. Either way, the scent has my mouth watering.
“We were just making changes to the audition process for the promo team,” Tally says, looking up at him with stars in her eyes.
I don’t blame her. Everyone in the office reacts to him, albeit in different ways. Some women drool. Some men chase him like puppies. Others stand back in awe like they’re watching a movie. Porn, probably.
He does this simply by existing. What kind of magic is that?
Tate slides a hand in his pocket and casually leans against the door. “The promo team … is that the talent team you were discussing yesterday?”
“It’s tough to come up with a cute name when your mascot is a raptor,” I say, laughing. “We’re still throwing ideas around.”
“I’m 99 percent sure that my father chose the mascot,” Tate says. “That’s par for the course considering everything that man touched turned to shit.”
The office grows quiet, and I don’t know what to say. It’s never good to pile on when someone remarks negatively about their family. But the flash in his eyes when he mentioned his dad makes me curious.
“Aurora, if you don’t mind, I’m going to head back to my desk and get started on these replies,” Tally says.
“Great idea. If you need anything, let me know.”
“I will.” She grabs her computer and stands. “It was good seeing you, Mr. Brewer.”
He gives her a dazzling, panty-dropping smile. “You, too, Tally.”
She trips on a chair leg on her way out.
Tate shuts the door behind her.
“You wield that thing like a weapon,” I say, sitting back in my chair.
“What thing?”
“That smile.”
He sits on the corner of my desk. “I’ve smiled at you several times, and you seem to be defending yourself just fine.”
If he only knew just how often I’ve gone to war with myself over his smile, among other things, he’d be surprised.
I look at him, smirking from his perch above me.
No, he wouldn’t.
I wondered how often we’d see each other during the normal course of the day. He was nowhere to be found when I arrived at six thirty this morning. I saw him briefly after lunch, but a little wave was our only form of connection. A part of me feels relieved that I haven’t seen him a lot … and another part of me is disappointed.
“How has your day been?” he asks.
I glance around the mess on my desk. “Productive. One of my superpowers is being productive when I’m avoiding something.”
“Don’t you mean someone?”
I grin. “Are you insinuating that I’m avoiding you?”
“Have you been avoiding me?”
“Not specifically,” I say.
“And to think that my goal has been trying to run into you all day,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “This doesn’t bother you, does it? Me being in your office? Because if it does, I’ll go.”
I wish I could say that it did, but it would be a lie. Because every time someone has passed my doorway today, I’ve held my breath, hoping it was him. And that is the problem. We get along so well. If things were different, I can easily imagine being friends with Tate Brewer. He’s fun, his sense of humor is on point, and his wit is perfection. He’s also smart, kind, and respectful.