Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Damn.
CHAPTER
TWO
Gianna
Drake nods subtly toward Francine, politely acknowledging her presence, but his eyes—wild sapphires rimmed with the darkest lashes—are glued to me.
“I don’t know about accepting that challenge so quickly,” Francine says, teasing him. “Gianna’s quite a force to be reckoned with.”
“I didn’t say that I’d win,” Drake says, his grin digging deeper. “I just said I’d be happy to give Gianna a chance to handle me. Sounds fun.”
My teeth bite into my bottom lip to keep from smiling too wide. It’s also a futile attempt at redirecting my attention away from thoughts of handling Drake Bennett, which is easier said than done.
Drake’s physical appearance alone could unravel even the strongest woman’s inhibitions. Squarish jaw. Thick neck. Corded forearms that scream capability and strength. His body was deliciously sculpted by years as an elite athlete, culminating in a Hall of Fame football career as a tight end. He’s hot enough to make your knees weak, but so handsome he steals your breath.
The truly confounding thing about Drake—the piece of him that could seduce even the holiest saint—is his magnetism. Women return his smile without realizing it. Men clamor to be in his circle because his mere presence gives them social proof. He has a way of making everyone feel as if they share a secret with him.
It’s almost criminal.
Drake slides one hand into his pocket and moves closer. “How’s our resident dream crusher today, anyway?”
I lift a brow in amusement. “Dream crusher?”
“The office plays our podcasts live through the building, you know. I couldn’t help but listen to you crush dreams left and right today.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“And you’re so mean,” he says playfully. “You’re like the Grinch who killed Cupid.”
I laugh as he comes closer and the notes of his cologne drift through the air. They’re subtle yet intentional—spicy but with discipline. It feels like an assurance that he’s a gentleman, but also a promise that he will have no problem being a bad boy if I ask nicely.
My arms cross over my chest, creating a nice view of my cleavage. If Drake happens to notice … oops.
“I like to think of myself more like the female version of Dr. House,” I say. “But without the PhD and a much better fashion sense.”
“Wasn’t he known for his terrible bedside manner?” Drake smirks.
“Only to weak individuals incapable of taking it.” I smirk right back. “And I can assure you that I’ve never heard any complaints about my bedside manner.”
His brows shoot up just before a wicked grin curves the edges of his lips. “And I assure you that I can take it.”
Now that’s a challenge I’d like to accept.
My pulse quickens as his confidence gives way to curiosity—and maybe a little admiration of my ability to give it as good as I get it. It’s the cornerstone of our friendship, a push and pull that straddles the line of professionalism in the workplace. But it’s okay because it’s just for fun. As much as I would like to take him home for a night, I won’t.
Francine clears her throat, reminding us that we aren’t alone. My head whips to hers just in time to catch a cheeky smile.
“I need to be going,” she says. “I promised my husband that I’d be home while it’s still daylight outside. But if I could squeeze in just a moment to mention that Mercy Malone’s publicist got back with me just before you went on air. She’s apparently a huge fan of yours.”
“Did you hear that?” I ask Drake smugly. “Mercy Malone, the drummer for Wildfire, is a fan.”
If he rolled his eyes any harder, they’d fall out of his head.
“We’re trying to work together to get her on your show,” Francine says, adjusting her shirt collar. “I’m cautiously optimistic, but there’s always a chance that it’ll fall through. If it does come together, it might be a quick turnaround. You may want to start putting together some questions. Just in case.”
“Absolutely,” I say. “I’ll get a list to you for approval by Monday.”
“They’re chill and said nothing’s off the table. So have fun with it. Put your famous Gianna spin on it, and it’ll be magic, I’m sure.” She glances at her phone. “That’s it for me. You two can return to your verbal pickleball. Gianna, great work today. And Drake … behave.”
I snort. Come on, Francine. Where’s the fun in that?
“It’s a pleasure to see you, as always,” he says, flashing her a smile that could kill lesser women. Francine, however, has worked with Drake longer than I have. She’s not exactly immune to his charm, but doesn’t trip over herself, either.
With a final wave, she leaves and shuts the door behind her. It closes with a crispness that punctuates her departure.
I take a deep, steady breath and blow it out with the same rhythm. My heart drums in my chest in wild strokes. The Thursday slot and Mercy Malone? Wow.