Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
“Too late. I already sent ‘wanna fuck’,” I declare, holding up my phone.
Riggs reaches for his own phone, pulling up our newly-made group text as he spits out, “You did not!”
I grin cheekily. “No, I asked if she wanted some company tonight, offering the one thing she can’t get anywhere else… us.”
“Oh.” Staring at the message, he seems a bit surprised by my semi-delicate approach.
Kayla’s response comes quickly. I wish, but I’m already in bed. Early day tomorrow with lots of meetings.
Riggs and I meet eyes. “What do you think?” I ask, generously giving him some input this time.
“Light, like you,” he says, nodding with certainly. In his mind, that’s a compliment, so I take it as such.
“What’s on your agenda? Tell us all the ways you’re going to scare weak men tomorrow,” I say as I let my phone voice type for me. A quick edit, and I lift a questioning brow for Riggs’s approval. When he chuckles, I hit Send.
Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult, but actually, you’re right, Kayla sends back quickly. The guy I’m meeting with? Last time, he literally asked if he should speak with Cameron or my dad about Blue Lake’s investment in his company.
Riggs is quicker than me this time. Is he still breathing? If so, do you want us to correct that?
I laugh at his offer of violence, then send my own taunt. You’re off your game, Harrington. Should’ve left him bleeding out beneath your feet. Then he’d be too dead for a meeting tomorrow. Win, win.
I almost did. But didn’t want to sacrifice my favorite Jimmy Choo’s. And I want the deal. The meeting tomorrow is to go over the contract. Mind you, the contract that’s basically a done deal, take it or leave it.
I can hear the cutthroat businesswoman in her message, the take no prisoners style that got her to the top of her field regardless of her last name, and I respect that as someone who had to do a lot to get where I am too. I might be publicly laid back and a little silly, but make no mistake, I’m ruthless when the situation calls for it. Usually, that’s on the ice, but it can carry over to my personal life when needed.
He’ll take it, Riggs sends. His expression is dead serious, and I have no doubt that if he could make it so, he would. But that won’t be necessary. Kayla’s got it handled herself.
He probably just wants to see your pretty face again. Or maybe he’s the type that enjoys a bit of ego crushing for sport because I’m sure you let him have it.
I did.
There are still three little dots, showing that she’s typing, when I send a quick follow-up message.
Good girl.
Looking for some ego crushing of your own?
He definitely is, and I want to watch him cry. Get him. Riggs flashes me an evil smirk as his message comes through.
But Kayla’s next message isn’t the hit to my confidence he’s hoping for.
Raincheck? I should get some sleep.
Sweet dreams, pretty girl. And good luck tomorrow (not that you need it). Riggs is back on his poetic shit, apparently.
You don’t need luck. You’ve got skills. Give him hell, Harrington. I’ve got more of a locker room pep-talk vibe.
Goodnight.
I’m glad her message isn’t goodbye, but it still takes the air out of the room. Riggs and I meet eyes again and I grin. “See, chasing is fun,” I say, reminding him of our previous chat.
“Fucking asshole,” he grits out. “I’m going to bed too.”
He’s not. He’s running to his room to stare at the message thread, think about this weekend, and probably jack off again. How do I know that? Because it’s what I’m going to do too, after I eat a breadstick or two.
KAYLA
Greg and I stand as the conference room door opens, revealing David Jessup and his surprisingly small entourage. It’s only him and one other person—a tall, blond man in a charcoal gray suit and red tie, that’d I estimate to be close to thirty-five, maybe thirty if he’s spent some time in the sun. Lounging on a boat, because nothing about him says outside labor.
“David,” I say by way of greeting, extending a hand.
We shake and then he half turns, gesturing to the other man. “Kayla, I’d like to introduce you to Brent, my legal representative, but more importantly, my son. I thought the two of you might get along.” He smiles brightly, putting a dash of extra emphasis on his last words.
I barely stop the flare of my eyes. He’s got to be fucking kidding me. Is he trying to play matchmaker? Or does he think his law-school-polished son, who’s probably done all of a dozen contracts in his professional life, is going to help him get favor on a deal our legal team of experts has gone over with a fine-tooth comb? Newsflash, neither is going to work.