Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Another man with dark hair is penetrating me with his eyes like he can’t decide if he wants to shake my hand or cut it off, his hair is pulled back into a low ponytail.
Every single guy is built, and I don’t mean in an “oh, you do CrossFit” sort of way, but in a big hands, broad shoulders, “I could kill you” sort of way.
There must be something in the wine they’re drinking because they’re all stunning, even the angry one who remains sitting. Seriously, I half expect him to put his feet on the table and yawn.
“Our new trainee and hopefully manager.” Cyrus holds up a crystal wine glass. “Cleo.”
“How very interesting.” Sullen guy brushes pieces of his ash hair away from his face. His eyes are a vibrant, angry green, his mouth is turned down like he’s pissed at the world, but his fingers are strangely feminine and long as he grabs his wine and starts to chug. Drops of red wine slide down his chin. He wipes it away with his sleeve and pours more, he reminds me of Daemon from House of Dragons. The other two give me polite half smiles that seem more like sneers. Remembering my need to make a good first impression, I smile genuinely in return.
Cyrus gets up and walks toward me. The way he moves is almost reserved, like he’s holding back from sprinting, every muscle in his neck bulges as he approaches. His massive hands pull the white wingback chair away from the table. I awkwardly sit as he pushes me forward. Is this part of the training?
His hand lingers near my shoulder, gripping the chair. Waves of heat pulse from him, the warmth is inviting after being so cold upstairs. I lean back just enough that I can feel my shoulder graze his fingers.
I touch my bracelet for good luck and take a deep breath.
He exhales, just barely, then grasps one of my shoulders I turn to him as he speaks.
His lips form an amused smile. “We’re so very glad you could make it.”
“Well,” I really want to reach for the glass of wine right in front of me, but I’m training. “You did say training starts at seven.”
“And continues for way longer than that.” One of the guys says into his glass.
Cyrus stiffly walks back to his seat, and the rest of the guests sit, each of them finding their wine glasses more interesting than me—not that I care.
“So,” the pretty sullen guy leans forward, smile predatory. “How long does training take you? How familiar are you with mixing drinks? Wines?”
That’s a weird question considering I just got here but I run with it anyway, he’s probably just trying to be insulting? His expression is one of challenge.
I place the black napkin on my lap. “I’m not sure. I hope I can at least prove myself tonight when I start training with Cyrus.”
The guy with dark hair pipes up. “It’s rare for him to join the training, you could pick any one of us you know.”
“No, thank you.” I say quickly. “I mean I at least kind of know Cyrus and I know I’ll be in good hands.” I hope I didn’t just insult them all.
“Bet I could make you so jealous you’ll explode.” He says to Cyrus lowly, so softly I almost missed it. Turning to me, he twists his wine glass with his fingertips with slow exaggerated movements. “He knows how good I am with my hands around all sorts of things in the bar.”
I regard him closely. Is he already drunk?
Cyrus’s jaw clenches. He abruptly turns to the guest with the slicked back black hair. “Control your son’s mouth before I control it for him.”
Son?
The man clears his throat. “Apologies, Cleo, my son has a rare disease where he’s unable to control the words coming out of his mouth—it’s called stupidity.”
I reach for my wine glass then lift it to my mouth but look to Cyrus for permission first, he inclines his head. “It shows.” I answer.
Sullen guy shoves away from the table causing some of the silverware to jangle to the floor.
“Tyrell.” His dad barks out his name. “Sit down before you embarrass yourself even more. You know the rules.”
Tyrell braces himself over the table, his hands press against the wood like he’s ready to start making firewood out of it. His green eyes flash. “Oh yes, the rules. If you’re so strict about them, maybe Cleo should know what she’s getting into before everything—”
“Enough!” Cyrus shouts slamming a hand down onto the table hard enough to make me jump a foot. Flames leap and flicker in the fireplace like a piece of wood just fell, though I don’t see anything from my seat. “Cleo’s my new employee, which means everyone needs to attempt not to be a complete jackass.”