Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
He gestures for me to take a seat in one of the two chairs opposite the one he sits in now. I can’t help noticing he didn’t bother with the usual pleasantries people exchange after they haven’t seen each other for a year. Nothing about how well I’m looking or how good it is to see me, not that I would expect it. If anything, the fact that he hasn’t bothered blowing smoke up my ass is reassuring. I know where I stand. This is the same man who tried to tell me to shake off what turned out to be a broken arm when I was eight years old.
Light footsteps fill the air behind me, out in the hall, and I watch as Dad looks over my shoulder and waves someone in. “Right on time. Harper,” he says, gesturing toward me. “My son Dawson. Your stepbrother.”
Looking at me, he adds, “Your new boss.”
Hold the fuck up. “Boss? As in she works for me?” If there’s one thing I cannot fucking stand, it’s the sense of walking in on something halfway through and trying to catch up to what everybody else already knows. It’s all I can do not to sputter in confusion while he sits there, practically beaming with satisfaction.
“That’s right,” he tells me like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Now that you’ve established yourself as a billion-dollar tycoon, you’ll need a good assistant.”
I can’t help hearing the way he says it. Like he’s jealous. Am I supposed to feel sorry for doing in one year what he hasn’t been able to do in decades? The pieces were already there. All he needed to do was put it together, but he has never had the vision.
Yet he has the balls to sit there and almost smirk at me.
Now I take a serious look at this Harper person for the first time since she walked in. She might have rolled out of bed a few minutes ago, dressed in a baggy T-shirt and a pair of leggings. Strands of blonde hair hang around her face, but most of it is pulled into a bun on top of her head. Has she seen a brush today? Her peaches-and-cream complexion is a contrast to the olive skin Dad handed down to me, and it adds to her aura of fresh-faced youth she gives off.
“You could at least have found somebody pretty,” I decide, and the way her features shift makes it worthwhile. Color blooms in her cheeks, and her nostrils flare while small fists clench at her sides.
The fact is, she’s very pretty. Pouty lips, wide blue eyes that narrow in response to my criticism. She’s very easy to set off but knows she needs to be a good girl in front of Mom’s new meal ticket. This could be a lot of fun.
Her shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath before she looks at Dad. “You want me to work for him? I don’t know anything about being an assistant.”
“Then you’re going to learn,” Dad fires back. I could’ve told her all the common sense in the world wouldn’t make a difference. Not to Henry Price. He’ll do anything to keep her gold-digging mother happy and faithful, but her daughter? He’s never exactly been great when it comes to empathy. If anything, the more she digs her heels in, the more determined he’ll be to bend her to his will.
Looking her up and down, that hourglass figure of hers has me wanting to bend her, too. Her baggy T-shirt can’t hide her tiny waist any more than it hides her full tits and hips. I can imagine enjoying looking at her every day, especially in the right clothes. She’ll need them. Preferably something short, tight, and low-cut.
When she looks down at me, eyes blazing, I’ll be damned if my dick doesn’t twitch a little. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I am totally unskilled.” I hear what’s under her words, even if Dad doesn’t. She’s practically begging me to back her up and agree this isn’t going to work.
Before I can say a word, Dad snaps, “You will learn. You’ll have to excuse me if I made this sound optional. It isn’t. If you expect me to pay for your art school, you’ll put in one year of working for your stepbrother because I said so. Understood?”
Art school. The disdain dripping from his voice tells me what I need to know about his feelings on that one. I don’t even think I could blame him for setting rules for what she has to do if she expects him to pay.
“Is there anything else you want to say?” Dad asks.
Fuck, she’s seething. I would swear in court there’s heat radiating from her. It practically singes the dark beard I trimmed close to my skin just this morning. “I don’t think so,” she grits out. She is almost choking on rage, fighting for every word. Fighting to keep her dignity, too. I know how that goes. Hell, when I look at it that way, there’s a chance the two of us could get along well. We have enough in common.