Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
“Did you spit in it?”
“No.” I waited for him to take a sip before adding, “So if it tastes different, that’s why.”
Tate chuckled deviously, popping open the lid of his coffee and dragging the cup across the table to where I was standing.
“Go on then.” A daring glint sparkled behind his pale eyes.
I stared at him, aghast. “Go on, what?”
“Spit in my coffee. You know I’m very particular about my brew.”
“I was kidding. It was a joke.”
“Well, I’m not. It tastes off. Spit in it.”
“You’re depraved.”
“You’re delectable.”
“What?”
“Thought we were listing each other’s obvious traits?” He cocked a brow.
He was being purposefully crude.
Very well. I wasn’t going to be the one to bow and cower out of his twisted game. He wanted to play? I’d one-up him.
I knew Tate thought of me as prim and proper. And to be perfectly honest, that was the only side of me I’d given him.
But I too harbored secrets. Some of them dark and big enough to suffocate me to death.
Palming his coffee cup, I tilted my head down and spat in it. I handed it back to him. “There you go.”
He took a large sip, closing his eyes and tilting his head back with a groan of pleasure. “Hmm. Much better.”
His smoky, husky moan reverberated through my entire body.
Was this what he sounded like when he came? When he was deep inside one of his world-famous supermodels?
“My mother is settling quite well at the hospital, by the way. Cheers for asking.” I took a seat two chairs down from his spot at the head of the table.
I flipped my notebook open, as I always did when Tate and I were in the same room and I knew I was about to be bombarded with tasks and demands.
“She better hang the fuck on to her life at least until I sample the goods.” Tate took another swallow of his drink, giving me an appreciative once-over. “I’m certainly not doing this pro bono.”
A part of me wanted to strangle him. The other wanted to shove his head between my legs to shut him up.
Unfortunately, I knew he’d enjoy both options, so I settled for neither.
“Speaking of.” I tapped my chin. “Why is the hospital staff so fidgety around me? What did you do?”
“I ensured our deal would be fruitful and long-term.”
“How?” I pressed.
“By explaining to Dr. Stultz I will see that his department gets defunded and his license revoked if he doesn’t cure your mother.”
My jaw went slack. “That’s wildly unethical.”
“Unlike getting someone kicked out of a dementia program to make way for your ailing mother?” He arched a mocking eyebrow. “Sweetheart, don’t lecture me about morals. I see through your Goody Two-Shoes charade, and rest assured, I approve of that ruthless side of you.”
I was beginning to second-guess our arrangement.
Tate wasn’t a predictable creature. I’d been counting on him to let me go because he was thrice divorced, but what if I was the exception to the rule?
What if my fighting back provided just enough challenge for him to keep pushing? I couldn’t change who I was.
“Don’t you dare compare us. I’m only trying to take care of my mother.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“What a coincidence. So am I.”
“To get into bed with me!” I flung my arms in the air. “Which, by the way, is sexual harassment in a workplace.”
“Yeah, I found a loophole.”
“Enlighten me.”
“You’re fired.”
My racing heart screeched into a halt. “What?”
“Can’t be sexual harassment in a workplace if we don’t work together. Don’t worry. I found you another role in a subsidiary company in the building. More on that later.”
“Are you aware that you’re a psychopath who is incapable of small talk, let alone an entire range of emotions?” I spluttered.
“I am capable of small talk,” he countered.
“No, you aren’t. You’re crude, crass, corru—”
“This is really boring.” He waved me off. “Let’s change the subject.”
I folded my arms over my chest. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Did you know that your vocal cords are actually folds?” he drawled haughtily.
“I did not.” I frowned.
Was he suffering from a brain hemorrhage? One could only hope.
“Their layers of muscles, ligament, and membrane make up two liplike pink creases. They look remarkably like a vagina.”
Why was he telling me this?
“What are you doing?” I squinted.
“Nothing,” he snarled. “Talking. We’re talking. About things that aren’t my subpar personality.”
“Tate, are you trying to…make small talk with me?” I blinked. For the first time in weeks, something that resembled an honest-to-God laugh threatened to roll out of my mouth.
His eyes snapped up from the contract he was examining. He looked thoroughly repulsed.
“I’m not trying, I’m succeeding. And it is very dull. Why do people enjoy it?”
“It builds social bonds.” I bit on my smile. “It is the human equivalent of grooming each other.”
“Can we lick each other’s genitals instead?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Cats and dogs figured out a better way to handle their social calls.”