Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 95311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
"How long do women typically last in your life?" she countered with a smile, hoping to try to steer the conversation off of her.
"Touché," he smiled a little, "but this isn't about me. This is about you. I really hate to see you get hurt. And I would hate it even more if you were suddenly gone from EM and I couldn't see you around anymore," He held a finger up to someone who was waving him over from across the room. "I just wanted to plant the idea in your head, love. Do with it what you will. You're a smart girl. You'll figure things out. Now if you'll excuse me, those people over there think you've monopolized my fabulous company for far too long." He smiled and walked away.
Hannah walked toward the sitting room, placing her now-empty wine glass on an empty tray a server lowered toward her. Thanks to impossible amounts of liquor that was being consumed, people had finally found courage to create a dance floor. The band was in the middle of an up-beat oldie but goody and couples and even singles were laughing and spinning around happily.
She had done this, she realized with a smile. This was her doing. The band, the music selection, the food, even the booze. She had made this happen and made these people have an enjoyable atmosphere. Pride like she hadn't felt in a long time welled up inside her and she swayed a little. Suddenly a wine glass was lowered toward her face from behind her. She reached for it dumbly, expecting a smart quip from James to follow.
"What are you doing standing here all by your lonesome?"came an unfamiliar voice, instead.
Hannah turned to find a man standing there. He looked somewhere into his late middle-age and had salt-and-pepper hair and deep brown eyes. "There's that pretty face," he said with a smile that turned her stomach.
She silently wished James hadn't been right about this particular, seemingly inevitable, part of her evening. There wasn't much she could do to properly excuse herself from this man's attentions. And her supposed savior was nowhere in sight.
"So what's your name, gorgeous?" he asked, and she detected a southern drawl.
"I'm Hannah," she answered, glancing past him.
"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," he responded, touching her arm.
She felt her skin crawl and he didn't remove his hand, instead it sat there, heavy and clammy and feeling like an invasion.
"So what is a pretty thing like you doing here?" His fingers started running up and down her arm and she cringed at the dread-like feeling welling up inside her belly. She drank her wine in a long sip and hoped it would help her deal with this more diplomatically than she felt she currently could.
"I'm an associate of Elliott and James," she answered for what felt like the hundredth time that night.
"I see. Well, I am in construction," he said in a way that suggested she should be impressed. "But let's not talk about business. This event here is supposed to be for pleasure. I am very interested in pleasure. Maybe you can find a way to show me some pleasure. From the looks of you, you were built for it."
Oh, God. Hannah felt trapped. In any other situation, she would have attacked him with a smart comeback, slapped him, walked away... anything other than stand there and have a man old enough to be her father rake his hands over her skin and look at her as if she were a piece of meat. But she couldn't insult him; who knew how important he might be to the company. And she couldn't slap him or walk away either. It was the most uncomfortable sensation she had ever experienced and she felt as if she couldn't breathe.
"Bob," came a voice behind her and she nearly fell against him. Elliott. He stood behind her, just slightly to her side so he could look at Bob directly.
She looked up with him, feeling suddenly, foolishly, incredibly emotional. She knew tears swam in her eyes and she fought them but then Elliott looked down at her and saw. Something in his expression changed. Where before he had seemed curious, he looked for a second softly at her, almost worried. Then that was quickly replaced by a quiet anger.
"Elliott," Bob answered, suddenly releasing her arm and it fell limply to her side. "I was just getting to know your little associate here," he said with a mischievous smile and had the audacity to wink at her.
"Yes, well if you'll excuse us," Elliott said, his hand reaching for hers. He took her empty wine glass and thrust it at Bob who snatched it, confused.
She followed, slightly pulled by him to the dance floor. The music had just turned to a slow song and Elliott pulled her close, one hand resting on her hip, the other holding her arm outward, clasping it with his.