Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
I gently kick his calf. So much for hoping the dampness of my hair wasn’t noticeable.
I pull the damp strands up into a messy bun and try to tune into Christina’s recitation of the new boss’s backstory, mostly listening for his name, which I’ve promptly forgotten from the email that came through last week. Blah blah, Summa Cum Laude Dartmouth, blah blah, the linchpin behind Cartier’s super-successful TV spot . . . Yawn.
I’m more of a visual learner, so I shift in my chair, trying to get a peek at the new guy. Christina Riley, Elodie’s creative director, must have invited everyone on the marketing team, not just the design crew, because the conference room’s as packed as I’ve ever seen it, with the chairs surrounding the table three deep.
Figuring the man of the hour will be near Christina, I focus at the head of the table, looking for anyone I haven’t seen around the office before.
I know her, seen him, hate her . . .
Then my gaze collides with stormy gray eyes, and my scanning gaze screeches to a halt along with my heart.
Mother of all living hell!
It’s him. Again.
The very same man I’d rejected on the app.
The very same man who was sitting next to me as I did so.
Preston? Winston? Connery?
Thomas.
And just like that, the name of my new boss comes crashing back to me.
This is . . . not good.
Christina may be blissfully unaware of my late entrance, but I can tell from Thomas’s unimpressed expression that he hasn’t missed a thing. Not my damp hair, the late arrival. Hell, I feel like he even knows about the bikini bottoms I’m wearing because I forgot to do laundry. Which then makes me realize that the last conversation I had with this guy involved me referencing his tighty-whities.
No. This is not good at all.
“So,” Christina is saying in a voice that’s way too cheerful considering how my morning is going. “That’s enough from me! Suffice to say, I speak on behalf of the entire team when I say we’re so thrilled to have you join us, Thomas.”
Yes. So thrilled, Thomas.
His gaze is still locked on me, and his eyes narrow ever so slightly, as though reading my sarcastic thoughts, before he shifts his attention back to Christina.
He stands and clears his throat. “I appreciate the warm welcome,” Thomas says in that formal, clipped voice that’s both sexier and more annoying than I remember. “I look forward to getting to know all of you. Specifically, I’m anxious to meet the talent that will be on my team, and Christina has generously given me use of the conference room for the rest of the morning for some one-on-one meetings.”
Thomas picks up an iPad from the conference room table and glances down at it. “Let’s do this the old-fashioned way, alphabetical by last name?”
I withhold my groan of dismay, but just barely.
Gray eyes flick to mine.
“Mackenzie Austin. Shall we start with you?”
CHAPTER THREE
Monday, September 12
My coworkers file out of the conference room, many of them taking the extra chairs with them, and conversation has already shifted away from the new guy. I hear snippets of weekend recaps, grumbles about Monday, and frustrated gripes that senior leadership changed its mind again about the spring marketing campaign.
Take me with you!
Nobody seems aware of my inner agony, and far too quickly, I’m left all alone.
No, not alone. He’s here.
Thomas has a blatantly bored expression on his face as he reads something on his phone, and for a horrific moment, I wonder if he even remembers me. Then he looks up, and suddenly the enormous conference room isn’t nearly big enough for the two of us and our mutual antagonism.
He definitely remembers me.
Thomas nods to the chair immediately to his right and gives a slow, vaguely predatory smile. “Mac. Don’t be a stranger. Not after all we’ve been through.”
I grit my teeth and stand, not so much because my new boss has instructed it, but because I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking I’m avoiding him. I walk towards the head of the table, and he uses his foot to push a chair out for me.
I sit, and for a long moment we merely look at each other.
He’s wearing a pinstripe navy suit, and I’m wondering if he got a haircut over the weekend in honor of his first day on a new job, because he looks even more obnoxiously Ivy League than he had on Friday night.
Also, his shoes have freaking tassels on them. I could never date a man with tassels. I nearly tell him this, then remember that we’re not here as potential romantic partners. Not this time.
Thomas leans back in his chair, and though I suppose it could be construed as a relaxed gesture, there’s something predatory about it. He pivots the chair slightly, resting an elbow on the conference room table as he studies me.