Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“I see. Very proactive of you. Can I get you a coffee?” he asked, ignoring the folder and waving toward the coffee bar.
Damn him.
He found my kryptonite.
He knew it, too, judging by the way his eyes warmed and his lips curved up into a smile.
“Allow me,” he said, already making his way in that direction.
“I can make it,” I insisted.
“Of course you can,” he agreed, but kept moving.
“You don’t know how I like it.” I started to fold my arms, remembered Madison, and dropped them again.
“You like it hot when you’re inside, but iced when you’re outside. And you always like it sweet, slightly creamy, and flavored.”
How the hell did he know that much?
“So my only question is if you’re more in the mood for vanilla, caramel, mocha, or brown sugar and cinnamon?”
“You have brown sugar cinnamon syrup?” I asked, eyeing the rack of syrups that looked out of place.
“I do,” he said, reaching for it.
It was then that I felt confident in saying he bought it because I’d mentioned it in Vegas sometime. Because he had to pause to pull off the safety seal before he used it.
I stood there struck momentarily silent as I watched the man roll up his damn sleeves all sluttily before finishing making my drink.
“You’re not having one?” I asked when he brought it back to me.
“I don’t drink that much coffee during my workday.”
“Did you put in a coffee bar for me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. Because that would be kind of creepy.
“Of course not,” he said, making his way back toward his desk. “I have many guests who like coffee. The coffee syrups are for you, though.”
“Dude, come on,” I said, shaking my head at him. “You see how crazy that is, right?”
The stupid coffee smelled annoyingly divine. A tentative sip told me he’d made it perfectly, too.
“Why is that crazy? Of course I’d want you to have coffee the way you like it when you stop by.”
“Why would I stop by?”
To that, he waved a hand at me, a little smirk toying with his lips.
“That’s different!”
“Is it?”
God, I felt suddenly drained.
I dropped down in one of the guest seats.
“I’m here to get my annulment.”
“I see that,” he agreed, moving the folder to the edge of his desk.
“Come on, Harrison. I gave you a couple of days to really think about it.”
“You did,” he confirmed.
“And talk to your lawyers.”
“I had that conversation, yes.”
“They have to be pissed.”
“Well, I pay a hefty retainer,” he said, his smile a little boyish, “so they can’t really be pissed at me.”
“Concerned, then.”
“They were that.”
“Did you show them the paperwork?”
“I did not.”
“Why not? It would ease their minds.”
“I imagine it would.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“So you’ve said.”
“God, were you this laconic in Vegas?” I grumbled. Then took a few sips of the perfect coffee.
“You did that in Vegas too,” he said, leaning back in his seat with that damn charming smile on his stupid, handsome face.
“Did what?”
“Tossed out an SAT word in the middle of a normal conversation. Even drunk.”
“I have two aunts and a cousin who are librarians.”
“Peyton, Reese, and Luna.”
“Have you been stalking me?”
“You told me,” he said, shrugging off my alarm. “Luna is Reese’s daughter. Reese is married to your Uncle Cyrus. Who isn’t your uncle by blood. In fact, none of your family is by blood. It’s by… club?”
He was right about that.
My father was a biker. His club, its members, and their wives and children made up most of my family.
God, how much had I told him about them? Because, well, the biker club wasn’t exactly on the right side of the law. And while I had aunts who were perfectly normal things like librarians and beauticians and housewives, I had others who were hackers and other less-than-legal things.
“Layna,” he said, his voice soft again.
“What?”
“Why are you panicking?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re about to break that cup.”
My hands hurt from clutching it so hard. I forced my fingers to relax.
“Anything I told you about my family—”
“I don’t care what your family does or doesn’t do.”
The way he said that made me think I’d definitely spilled at least some of the beans on them.
Now I really was going to have to tell the whole family about my little mistake.
“Well, if you would just sign the damn papers, you don’t have to worry about my family at all.”
“Are you feeling better?”
“I’m fine,” I snapped.
“You seem stressed.”
“Because I want a divorce, and you won’t give it to me.”
“Have you eaten anything today?”
“Food isn’t going to make me forget that you’re holding my freedom hostage.”
“No, but you do seem to be calmer when you’ve eaten.”
“I’m calm. I’m perfectly calm.”
I was about to crawl out of my skin.
“You’re keeping yourself still because you’re worried about what Madison might be seeing,” he clarified.
“Who has a glass office? Don’t you ever want privacy?”