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)
I was past desperate.
Positive the flat was empty, I tiptoed out of the guest room toward the master bedroom.
I stopped in front of the double doors, my stomach in knots. Feminine giggling seeped through the crack under the doors.
Raspy purrs of a woman—no, scratch that, two women—murmuring and coaxing. I decided it was futile to knock. He’d hardly invite me in.
I pushed the door open.
When I registered the scene in front of me, my breath tumbled down my windpipe, causing me to cough.
Tate was sprawled across his upholstered recliner, completely clothed (thank God), an elbow tossed casually on the armrest, suckling on a cigarette.
He was observing two women in ball gowns—one blond and the other a redhead—stretched on the floor like toddlers, shapely legs dangling in the air, hunched over pens and papers. They were covering their mouths and giggling as Tate supervised the situation with a parental boredom. Their faces were familiar, probably because I’d shoved an NDA for them to sign at some point.
What in the bloody hell did I just walk into?
“Miss Bennett,” he greeted laconically, eyes still trained on his leggy companions. “Did you ever hear the term ‘no means no’?”
“I’m not forcing myself upon you.”
“That’s your version of things.” He tsked. “HR isn’t going to like this.”
“What’s going on here?” My gaze ping-ponged from him to them.
“This”—he pointed at them with a tumbler full of whiskey, taking another drag of his fag—“is Precious and Paris trying to solve an Algebra II equation. The first to work it out shall have the honor of sucking my cock. What do you think?”
“I think…” You are completely, utterly, irrationally unhinged, and no amount of money in the world can justify working for your arse. “I think I could work it out in less than ten seconds.”
He tapped ash into an ashtray, considering my statement. “Why, Gia, I am extremely flattered. Had I known you to have any carnal interest in me, I’d have let you suck my cock every lunch break.”
“Wha—” My eyes widened as realization sank in. “No, Tate. I’ll solve the equation in exchange for speaking with you. I wouldn’t have sex with you if you were the last man on earth.”
“Surely, that’s an exaggeration.”
“I assure you, it’s not.”
“I’m tall and have good teeth, and the future of humankind depends on us. Be a sport.”
“I really don’t think you should reproduce. Nothing good can come out of your DNA. If it’s down to us or nothing, then sorry. Civilization had a good run.”
He grinned devilishly, snuffing his cigarette on one of the women’s Chanel bags and snapping his fingers. “Perry, Paisley.”
Weren’t they Precious and Paris a moment ago?
“Get the fuck out. I’ve found superior entertainment.”
“But…but…” The blond bombshell blinked, hot-pink lips hanging open in surprise. She was very pretty and comically busty. “Are you seriously going to give up sex with me?” she whined.
“Darling,” he purred patronizingly, the endearment rolling off his tongue with disdain. “I wouldn’t remember your face tomorrow morning if you tattooed it on my fucking palm.”
I was glad I’d been too nervous to eat today, because I was sure he wouldn’t appreciate my vomiting all over his Calacatta-veined floor.
The women huffed and pranced out of the room, flinging hair in their wake and sending me hate glares.
Finally, it was just the three of us.
Me, Tate, and his giant ego.
Tate gestured with his hand to the equation and pen on the floor. I quietly walked across the room and picked it up, sauntering over to sit on the edge of his bed.
“Stay standing,” he barked.
I stood up before my bum hit the mattress.
“Nobody touches my bed.” A flush of pink struck his cheeks.
He sounded like a toddler in the throes of a tantrum. An off-character outburst for this normally blasé creature.
I placed the piece of paper on the nightstand. Still standing, I leaned down to solve the linear equation.
It wasn’t difficult by any means. As the daughter of a late auditor, I did have a natural knack for numbers.
It occurred to me how ridiculous I looked, in full makeup and a ball gown, solving a math problem in my boss’s bedroom in the early hours of the morning. But life around Tate had always been chaotic.
He pulled his pocket watch, frowning at it. “You have five seconds lef—”
“I’m done.” I put the pen down and sauntered over to him. I handed him the paper, careful not to touch him. He surveyed it through sharp, critical eyes.
Though his jaw was taut, I knew a smile was hiding behind it. I’d mastered reading him as one learned to move inside a familiar room in complete darkness.
“Growing up, were you fond of math?”
“I was,” I confirmed. “My father was an auditor. We did mental math together on weekends when it was too rainy to go outside.”
“What did you study in college?”