Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
This is probably my only hope.
Chapter two
Warrick
Ifind myself bracing for the worst and hoping for the— no. That’s not true. I’m not hoping for the best. After a five-minute call with security, I know nothing about this can go any way but sidefuckingways.
Anything more than a ten-second conversation with security is too much. Gerald might be brief and efficient, a man of few words, but those words have an impact. He wasn’t messing around when he informed me of the situation. He recommended sending said situation away, but I couldn’t let him do that. He told me he was going to accompany the situation up, and I did approve of that, but I made it clear that I wanted to meet with her alone.
If there’s one thing I agree with my parents about, and chances are good that it’s one thing only, it’s that family stuff should be kept private.
After Gerald gave me the longest spiel I had ever heard from him about how he’d make sure there was zero threat to me physically and then advised me to call both my personal and corporate lawyers before I said a word to the situation, he’d informed me that he’d be on his way up in twenty-three seconds.
I make sure I’m waiting right by the door. I might want to have this conversation one-on-one, but I’m going to direct how it goes. I’m letting this stranger into my office, but she’s not getting two feet past the door. I don’t believe in being unkind for the sake of unkindness, and I seldom rise to provocation, but at the same time, I’m not sixteen anymore. I won’t allow myself to get stampeded all over.
I wait for the firm knock before pulling the door open.
Gerald is a forty-two-year-old ex-marine. He has two kids of his own, and he and his wife took in his two nephews last year when his sister found herself in some trouble. He now has legal custody of them. The man has a soft heart, but on the outside, he’s a huge giant, with a shaved head and narrowed eyes. He’s intimidating because he thinks that’s what security should be. He takes his job seriously, and I can tell he doesn’t like the woman standing at his side.
She’s average height, around five seven, making her about as tall as Gerald. While he’s professionally dressed in a crisp black suit, she’s…not.
I don’t even know what to say about her ripped black leggings, the Lycra leotard straight from the eighties, or the leather jacket. Did she come to shake me down for money straight from a jazzercise class?
Her wild mass of curly hair does that naturally untamed thing where it flatters her oval face, the dark chestnut contrasting perfectly with her pale skin. She might be dressed for an eighties party, but she’s not rocking the makeup for it.
My body does something instinctive that it hasn’t done for anyone in a very long time. The more than lowkey burn catches me off guard. I’ve never been more thankful for the business casual dress code that allows me to wear jeans, but I still automatically angle away and imagine a weenie roast in which it’s my dick over the flames. Naturally, just the thought of it causes immediate shriveling.
It’s the middle of summer, but she’s clutching a pumpkin purse complete with a carved-out face. I almost double back to check my calendar and make sure I haven’t missed a few months of my life and fast-forwarded straight to October.
I’m a mess on the inside, but I manage to sound at least half professional on the outside. “Thanks, Gerald. I’ll take it from here.”
He humphs at that but shuts my door quietly.
The woman, Amalphia—I was given her name not more than a minute ago on the phone—twists her purse strap anxiously. She eyes the floor, then takes in the office. There’s not much to look at. It’s sparse, modern, and large. Lots of empty space, minimalism at its finest. One painting on the far wall, an original abstract by a local artist, catches her eye before those soft brown irises quickly flick black to me.
Heat grips the back of my neck and infiltrates my spine in a slow drip as she brazenly assesses me. She has the grace to get a little pink-cheeked over her frank perusal like I’m a lovely dress in a shop.
“Whoa,” she breathes. “You aren’t what I was expecting.”
Society might deem her decidedly average in build, her features pretty, but not anything out of the ordinary. Well, society as a whole usually gets it wrong. The light in her eyes betrays a stark intelligence. I’m not sure about her style choices, but whatever her fashion sense is, it definitely can’t be called bland.
“Are you and the security creep playing some kind of joke on me? You are Warrick Beanbottom CEO, right?”