Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35174 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 176(@200wpm)___ 141(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
“Perhaps you’d be wise to get a copy of that contract in front of me to sign, Mr. Rhodes, because as of this moment I’ve been working on good faith that you will hold up your end of the bargain. I’ve signed no contract yet. Excuse me.”
She walked inside, aware of his burning gaze on her every step she took. And no matter how much she longed to glance back at the man who was confusing her on so many levels, she refused.
They had a work relationship. If that. What they didn’t have was a shred of anything beyond her memories of how things had been between them that night they’d shared in Seattle.
Chapter Four
Damn it!
Feet pounding on the treadmill as it rose and fell, giving him the illusion of running outside in a hilly environment, Livingston ignored the sweat streaming down his face. It didn’t matter what the screen before him showed, all he could focus on, other than putting one foot in front of the other, was how Daisy Wentz had looked all cozy with the man outside his establishment.
He’d seen them in the casino, sharing a hug, and watched them leave together. When the same vehicle had pulled back up he had been on the move without so much as a second thought. It had killed him inside to see her step out, the huge smile on her face softening the ice he usually got.
The man’s hoodie had covered her. The dark-gray item had blended with her blue pants and her heels had been replaced by tennis shoes. Jealousy had speared right through him, not even giving him a slight chance to ward it off.
No other man’s clothing should be on her.
None of his reaction made sense. Not the anger, the jealousy, or his irrational behavior and asinine comments when he’d told her to get to work instead of playing out on the town with her boy toy.
Something she didn’t argue. He ground his jaw and picked up his pace. The trainer’s high-pitched tone encouraged him on, but he didn’t pay attention to her. All his thoughts were on Daisy and what she and that guy had been doing.
Thoughts off his workout, he stumbled and had to adjust swiftly to recover, shutting down the treadmill. Cursing himself seven ways to Sunday, he reached for his towel and ran it over his face. His office had finally become too stuffy for him along with his nervous energy and he strode back and forth over the open space, barely slowing to hit a button on the remote that turned on some fans to move the air.
Outside, a dark front approached from the gulf and he had no doubt there would be rain before he was done with work for the day. Typical winter NOLA weather, cold and rainy.
Towel tossed haphazardly over his left shoulder, he propped his hands on his hips as he paced back and forth in front of his window that overlooked his city. A sharp knock sounded before he heard Monica as she stepped in his sanctum.
“I’m not in the mood.”
“It’s about your brother.”
Everything inside him froze. Bradford? Hastings?
“Which one?”
“Hastings, sir.”
He watched her reflection in the window as she neared his desk. Dressed impeccably, she didn’t cross any boundaries by trying to flirt or come nearer. She stopped by the desk and stood.
“He’s okay, but there was an incident.”
An incident. When the brother in question was in spec ops, “an incident” held such a wide variety of possibilities.
Monica didn’t make him ask. It was one of the many things he approved of with her. She held a folder up, as if she understood he watched her in the window.
“The report is here.” She set it on his desk, paused a moment, then walked out, closing the door once again behind her.
Livingston didn’t immediately head to his desk. He remained at the huge window. What he searched for, he couldn’t explain. Restless and edgy, he scrubbed a hand down his face once more and sighed.
This behavior wasn’t productive. And no one kept their billions by not being productive. So he got back to work, pulled up a contract for her and stayed until nine at night, when he took the back way through to his suite in the building, his brother’s file in hand.
He ordered dinner, reading over the report while he ate. His brother, Hastings, was in a hospital in Germany and would be flown back to the States soon. There wasn’t anything he could do.
So he took a long shower that didn’t do a damn thing in the way of relaxing him. After putting a pair of workout pants and an old T-shirt on, he padded barefoot around his suite, finding himself more often than not in front of the door that led to the side Ms. Wentz was on.