Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 89(@200wpm)___ 72(@250wpm)___ 60(@300wpm)
"No."
The way he growls at me shouldn't be nearly as hot as it is.
"Don't lie to me, Seraphina. I know you do." His hand curves around my jaw, craning my head back. He's looking at me that way again—with pure hunger stamped across his face. "You put my name down on that board hoping it'd land on me, didn't you?"
I bite my lip, refusing to answer that question. I'm taking the truth to the grave with me. There's not a chance in hell I'm admitting it to him, not when my future here is in hands. Not when this could be some trick. Not when he could use it against me in a million different ways.
"No," I gasp, pulling away. "I wanted it to land on Liam."
His eyes glitter with something that can only be described as unholy possession. It isn't hot. It isn't. Except…my nipples are hard, my panties are drenched, and I'm two seconds from spontaneously combusting.
"Liar," he growls before softening again. "But that's okay, angel. I'm going to convince you to tell me the truth."
I read the warning in his words and take a big step out of the danger zone. I'm delusional enough to fantasize about the man. I am not delusional enough to make those fantasies a reality. Not even if the thought is tempting as hell.
"Stone…" I hesitate, trying to marshal my thoughts into some semblance of order. They're chaos, like usual. He always does that to me. "I'm not sure what kind of crisis you're having right now, but perhaps—"
"You're my crisis," he growls. "You've been my crisis for six months, Seraphina. I come to work every goddamn day and try like hell to pretend that you're just my executive assistant. Instead, I spend most of every fucking day so hard I can't think straight. You know what that does to a man, baby?"
"You mean other than make you so irritable I dream about choking you out with your own whistle?" The question just slips out without my permission.
He actually smiles at me, one of those rare, real smiles. "Yeah, other than that."
"No clue." I glance down my body. "Wrong parts."
He groans softly, tipping his head back. "Don't talk about your parts."
"This is…I think we should probably call an ambulance for you or something," I say. "This is probably some kind of stroke or aneurysm."
"No." He tips his head back. "This is honesty, maybe the first bit I've given you since you started working here."
"I… Gee, thanks?" I say, not sure what else I'm supposed to say to that.
"You can tell me to fuck off," he says. "You can quit. You can decide you'd rather be transferred out of this office. Hell," he says, grimacing. "You can file a sexual harassment complaint if you want. I won't fight it. But I'm asking—begging—for one shot first. Just one." He swallows hard. "And you're allowed to tell me no. Your job doesn't hinge on you agreeing. That's why Hector is your boss now."
I stare at him for a long, silent moment. "So…let me get this straight," I finally say. "You asked Hector to become my direct supervisor so you could ask me out because you saw your name on my MASH board and…what?"
"No." He meets my gaze. "I asked Hector to become your direct supervisor because I saw my name crossed out on your MASH board while some other motherfucker's name wasn't, and that's not a future I'm willing to entertain."
Oh.
Oh, wow.
"One date," he says softly.
I want to say yes, especially with him looking at me like he's desperate to hear that word on my lips.
"I need to think about this," I whisper instead, my head spinning. My entire universe is currently being reordered. Everything I thought I knew about him was wrong. Everything I thought was impossible is suddenly right in front of me. I can't answer him. How can I answer when I can't even think?
"That's fair," he says, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I'll give you time. I'll be on my best behavior. I won't even be a Thanos-level villain."
"You…" I gape at him. "Hector told you?"
"Was he wrong?"
I shrug instead of answering, which makes him grimace.
"Give me a chance, angel," he murmurs, his voice a gritty rasp. "Just one chance to make it up to you and prove that I can be more than just a grouchy asshole."
"Can you?" I ask, genuinely curious because he isn't just a grouch to me. He's a grouch to literally everyone.
"Yeah." His lips quirk into a smile that makes my stomach flutter. "If you let me, I can be your grouch."
"You are never going to believe what happened today," I cry, sliding into the seat beside Nova at the baseball stadium. Her brother, Nathan, is playing. We aren't here to watch him, though. We're here to watch Huxley Saint, the man Nova swears she hates.