Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 102479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102479 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“I’m guessing you know the answer.” He paused. “Did you lose something last weekend?”
My brows dipped. “Lose some—oh wait, did you find my anklet?”
“Gold with a star?”
“Yes! I was wondering if I lost it at your place.”
“If you wondered, why didn’t you call and ask?”
I looked up at the security globe again. “If you found it, why didn’t you call and tell me?”
Jagger’s low rumble of a laugh shot through me like a rocket, the vibration doing all sorts of things between my legs.
“Touché,” he said, and I heard the smile in his voice. “The anklet is broken, by the way. I hope it wasn’t important to you.”
“Not really. It was actually a gift from Brendan, but I liked it. I probably won’t even get it fixed.”
Again, Jagger was quiet a moment. “So what is next weekend?”
I’d gotten lost in our ping-pong match of a conversation, so it took me a few beats to catch back up. “Oh. Jack knows I like snowboarding, so he invited me to an indoor park. Apparently they have one in New Jersey.”
More silence. “And? Are you going?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. I wasn’t going to go, not when it was a date and not with a group of people. But Jagger didn’t need to know that. Turning back to my desk, so he couldn’t see my face, I lied. “I haven’t decided yet.”
This time the phone line went dead quiet for a full thirty seconds. That might not sound like a long time, but on a call, it really is. During the stand-off, I tossed around telling Jagger I might not go if I got a better offer, but again, I thought better of it.
“Why did it take Jack stopping by my desk to get you to want to call me?”
“I’ve wanted to call you since five minutes after you left on Sunday morning. It’s not a matter of want, Sutton.”
“Then what is it a matter of?”
“Self-control. You’re better off with someone who’s capable of giving you what you need. I know that, so I’m doing my best to keep my distance. Yet for some reason that guy just irks me, and I snapped.”
“What is it that you think I need, exactly?”
“A relationship with a nice guy who doesn’t dream about fucking you while holding your throat in his hand so tightly you’ll have to wear a scarf for a week.”
I should’ve been scared, especially with my history, but the visual of him doing that turned me on so much, it made me a little dizzy.
Jagger’s voice was gruff. “I have to go.”
“But—”
“Go home on time tonight, Sutton.”
***
Hours later, I’d just lifted my purse to my shoulder, getting ready to leave, when my desk phone rang again. My heart rate sped up, only to be disappointed when I saw it was the receptionist calling.
“Hi, Amara,” I answered.
“Hey, Sutton. A messenger just delivered a package for you.”
“Are you sure it’s for me?”
“I’m looking at your name written across the top.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I’d bring it to you, but I’m helping cover the overflow calls on the executive line. The phones haven’t stopped ringing since that DOJ announcement this morning, so it’s hard to leave my desk.”
“No problem. I was just getting ready to leave anyway. I’ll pick it up on my way out.”
A small box wrapped in plain brown paper sat next to Amara at the reception desk. It made me laugh to myself as I approached because it looked like the same kind of discreet packaging my vibrators were delivered in. Though as soon as I saw the bold, slashy handwriting on the top, I realized it was something way better than a toy. Jagger.
“Secret admirer?” Amara smiled.
“No, uh, I forgot I ordered some supplies.”
Luckily the phone rang and stopped her from asking any other questions, and I was able to scoop up the box and rush off to the elevator with it. I had no clue what could be inside, but too many people were in the car to rip it open and find out. I thought about ducking into a corner when I hit the lobby, but while I was looking around for a quiet spot, I noticed the security globe on the ceiling—the same kind as on my floor—and I wasn’t sure I wanted to be watched while I opened whatever was inside. So I pushed through the turnstile and out onto the street, but it was five thirty on a weekday in New York City, and the sidewalks were bustling.
Since it didn’t look like I was going to have a safe place to open the box until I got home, I attempted to ignore it and took the steps down to the subway. Though by the time I’d stared at Jagger’s handwriting for six long stops, I was almost desperate enough to pop into one of the urine-scented bathrooms down here and open it. Almost. Instead, I called Miles as I made my way up the stairs to have him occupy me for the remaining two-block walk to my building.