Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113584 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“Well, you’re making a name for yourself, Amelia. And if you have the likes of Tilda Spector championing you, people listen.” He stands, and my dazed gaze rises with him. My face must be spelling out a whole lot of panic.
“I’ll call Mr. Harrison,” I murmur, at a loss.
“No need.” Gary heads for the door, glancing at his watch. “He’s here.”
I push back into my chair, my stomach bottoming out. “Here?” I whisper. “Mr. Harrison is here?”
“I’ll tell them to let him up.” The door closes, and I sit in my chair, staring at the wood, my brain short-circuiting. Cognitive thought finds me way too late. I grab my phone and dial Jude, going to the door and peeking out. Jesus, where the fuck is Leighton? Jude’s phone goes straight to voicemail.
“Shit.” I hurry to the elevators, walking fast, one gear off breaking into a run, constantly checking around me. The lift dings, just as I land in front of the doors, and I brace myself to push Jude back in. The fucker. What’s he playing at? Except when the doors open, the cart’s empty.
“Amelia.” Shelley’s voice has me turning around, finding her walking down the corridor towards me with a shit-eating grin on her face.
And Jude’s behind her.
“Look who’s here,” she practically sings, her eyes wide and delighted.
“Yes, look,” I murmur, annoyingly dizzy at the sight of my newly acquired boyfriend. Suited. Booted. Stubbly. Eyes dancing, his hair sexed up. “God help me,” I whisper, slapping a smile on my face, peeking around for any signs of Leighton.
“Miss Lazenby.” Jude stops, his stance wide, his hands in his pockets.
“Mr. Harrison.” I’m going to fucking kill him. “Step into my office.” I sweep an arm out to the door behind him, and he looks back.
“Now there’s an offer a man could never refuse.” He smirks. I’m going to kill him twice.
Slowly.
Shelley chuckles, flustered, and I give Jude a glare I know he’ll read well. Yes, you’re in trouble. I pass him, and he falls in line behind me. Close. “This morning was fun,” he says quietly. “I think reverse cowgirl is a new favourite.”
“Pack it in,” I hiss, pushing my way into my office and holding the door open for him.
He steps in, takes in my workspace. “You didn’t enjoy riding me?”
“Jude,” I breathe, closing the door. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m here on business.” He helps himself to a seat in front of my desk. “And I was missing you.”
My eyes are daggers on him as I lower to my chair.
“I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.”
“Are you insane?” My gaze constantly flicks from him to my door, praying I can get him out of the building before Steers finds out he’s here.
“This is a really great desk.” He leans forward and strokes his hand across the glossy wood, a small smirk tickling the corner of his lips. “We should christen it.”
“You’re assuming it hasn’t already been christened.”
The smirk drops like a rock, his expression darkening. “That’s not funny.”
“Neither is you being here, Jude.” I slap my palm down and lean forward. “Explain.”
“I want you to take over my financial affairs.”
He’s crazy. Confirmed. My God, someone find me some patience. I pick up my new pen and start clicking the end, apprehensive, eyes still bouncing back and forth from Jude to the door.
“Nice pen.”
I drop it immediately. “Do you want to be my boyfriend or a client?”
“That’s a ridiculous question.”
“You can’t be both. It’s one or the other.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“This isn’t helping me; it’s stressing me the hell out.”
“Why? If I give you my money to invest, it guarantees you’ll smash your numbers, and then you’ll make partner. You won’t have to depend on winning Tilda Spector’s business or on Leighton Steers failing.”
I groan, dropping back in my chair and looking at the ceiling. “That’s not how I do things.”
“What, easily?” He scoffs. “I guess I should have known that. You made it really fucking hard to nail you.” I stare at him, flummoxed, and he gives me a boyish grin. “I love you,” he murmurs.
“Well, I don’t like you at this particular moment of time, Jude.” I get up, needing to walk off some of this annoyance. “I want to earn my way, not have my rich-as-sin boyfriend buy it for me.” I walk a few laps of my desk, Jude’s eyes following me.
“You’re making me dizzy,” he grumbles, reaching for my wrist as I pass him and pulling me onto his lap.
“Jude!”
“Stop complaining.” His mouth is on mine before I can protest, and I momentarily loosen, reciprocating, kissing him back. Until I manage to seize the small scrap of sense I still have.
Wriggling out of his hold, I escape him and fix my hair, ignoring his sigh of exasperation as I go back to my chair, making sure the desk stays between us.