Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Not that I’d ever say that name out loud. With my luck, it might end up slipping out one day. Fate has a funny way of letting me make the wrong decisions at the most inconvenient of times.
Focus. I’m here to work, not think about how head over heels I am for him. Walking briskly up to his desk, I pretend like nothing’s on my mind. It’s a hell of an act, considering my mind buzzes just from being this close to him.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. D’Amico.” I set the files down on the corner of his desk, keeping my posture perfectly straight so I don’t fidget nervously. “I just need signatures on the top two. All of the rest are for your review.”
Nick snags the stack of files, glancing up at me curiously as he flips the first open to scrawl his signature on the line.
“I don’t recall needing to review anything from you,” he says, blunt as ever.
“From Sloane, not me,” I clarify. “She asked me to bring them up.”
Some of the files technically are from me, since Sloane is far too lazy to actually do her job, but I’m not about to rock the boat by informing my CEO of the fact that I do a solid eighty percent of Sloane’s work. Is it above my pay grade? Yeah, by a lot.
So is tattling on my direct supervisor.
I just want to do my job and prove my skill set, not deal with inter-office drama.
“Is Sloane too busy to do her job herself?” Nick asks, arching a thick brow in annoyance.
I glance away, not able to keep eye contact while I lie to his face. “She’s wrapped up in an important call at the moment, sir.” If you can call bullying her poor nail tech into squeezing her in for an appointment on no notice important.
Nick frowns and makes a noise under his breath, one that I can’t quite decipher the meaning of, before turning his attention back to the files. A strand of hair falls over his forehead, dark against his olive skin. I allow myself a moment to fantasize about brushing it back into place as he scrawls out his signature.
What would it be like to touch him? To feel those cold, imperious eyes fixed on me as I drag my nails over his scalp? Would he be gentler in bed, or would he be just as demanding as he is in the boardroom?
He’s so stunning that it hurts to look at him sometimes. My thoughts swing wildly back and forth between what it would be like to kiss him sweetly and how much I want him to bend me over this desk.
The fantasy fizzles out the instant he looks up again, pushing the signed files back across the polished oak of his desk. He clears his throat when I don’t immediately move to take them, arching a brow imperiously.
“Thank you, Mr. D’Amico.” I gather the files and smile awkwardly at him, always wanting to draw our interactions out and never brave enough to do so. “Is there anything else you need?”
His eyes linger on my lips for just a second before he shakes his head.
“No.See yourself out.”
“Yes, sir.”
I don’t allow myself a glance back at him as I exit his office and pull the door shut behind me, but I do give myself five seconds to beat back the blush that always rises on my cheeks when I’m around him. God, I really am pathetic when it comes to him.
My heart is still pounding in my chest.
It’s better not to think about it at all. My kitten heels clip along the polished floors as I head toward the elevator. I take solace in the steady rumbling of it as it carries me back down the twenty-six floors of the building. It’s easy to force myself back into work mode once I’m back in my cubicle, setting the files Nick signed off to the side to be delivered to the research and development team tomorrow.
I’m interrupted before I can make much headway into my work when the overwhelming wave of expensive perfume tells me who’s coming before I even hear the snap of stilettos across the floor.
A forced smile paints my face as Sloane rounds the corner, overdressed as always in a silky wrap dress that shows a healthy amount of cleavage. She smacks her cinnamon gum as she leans an ample hip on the edge of my desk, ignoring the sticky notes taped there as she crosses her arms. One penciled brow arches in a look of carefully crafted disdain as she rakes icy blue eyes over me.
“Morgan,” she drawls, wrapping bright red lips around my last name like it’s some sort of insult. “You better be done with the risk analysis I asked for if you’re wandering around the office during work hours.”