Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 24610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 123(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
She’s trembling, her nails digging into my shirt, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she pushes back harder—kissing me like she’s just as starved, just as reckless.
The taste of her is addictive—sweet, dangerous, the kind of thing I’ll regret later but can’t stop taking now.
It takes everything I have to tear my mouth from hers. I rest my forehead against hers for a beat, breathing hard, still holding her hair tight in my fist.
“Thank you, Miss Barrett,” I say finally, forcing steel back into my voice. “I’m glad we could have this moment of clarity. I hope we won’t need to have others anytime soon.”
Her lips are swollen, her eyes wild, and I let her go as if it costs me something.
She nods, silent now, and I open the door. “Consider this your first and last warning.”
THE AUTHOR
HEATHER
Several Days Later
My eyes burn like someone swapped my tear ducts for hot coals, and my brain is so fried that I’m beginning to wonder if I actually kissed my boss days ago or if that was a figment of my imagination.
I rub at my temples, tug my hair into a knot, and squint at the glowing screen until the words blur together. Powering off the computer at last, I slip off my shoes under the desk and rest my head on the wood.
Mr. Wolfson clears his throat from my doorway—as if he’s telling me to sit up—but I stay put. I’m willing to risk his berating for a nap today.
Before I can shut my eyes, my desk phone rings—cutting my protest short.
“Wolfson Publishing,” I answer. “This is Adrian Wolfson’s office, how may I help you?”
“Oh, wow.” It’s Joanna. “You sound sooo professional!”
“Why can’t you call my cell phone?”
“I did, and it went straight to voicemail,” she says. “How’s it going?”
“Amazing.” I force a smile. “I love being worked like a farm dog.”
“Is someone around you?”
“Yes.”
“Is it your boss?”
“Yes.” I stifle a groan and glance over at him. Looking perfect as ever, he’s flipping through a new magazine and sipping his coffee like he owns time itself.
“I’m not paying you to stare at me or take naps, Miss Barrett,” he says, flipping a page. “Get back to work.”
“I’m in the middle of a task,” I say to Joanna. “What’s going on?”
“You texted me a super crazy question a couple hours ago.” She pauses. “I just wanted to give you the answer.”
I blink. I don’t remember anything except staring at pages.
“It would take you twenty-eight years of donating your plasma weekly at every city location to pay back the advance, so…I don’t think that’s an option.”
“What do you think someone would pay for my kidney and my wisdom teeth, then? Like if I bundled them together?”
She hangs up in my face.
Later that night, I open my laptop with an urge to escape from my life.
At first, nothing. Just the same mocking cursor on the same blank page. But then—maybe out of spite, maybe out of exhaustion—my fingers move. A single line. Then a paragraph.
I hate my boss. I hate his smug smile, his sharp suits, the way he looks at me like I’m already undone. But every night I imagine him bending me over this desk, shoving that thick cock into me until I forget my own name.
Suddenly, a page of my delayed office romance pours out faster than I can catch it. Every sentence is fueled by the days of hell I’ve endured. By the smug tilt of Mr. Wolfson’s smile, by every glare and task he’s sent in my direction. And the worst part is, the more I write, the more I realize it’s him I’m chasing on the page—his voice, his stare, the way he invades my head when I’m too tired to fight it.
My wrists ache and my cheeks burn as the hours pass, but I don’t stop. Not until the first light of morning spills across my desk.
I save the document and see that I’ve finished four chapters. Four whole chapters. The first real progress I’ve made in almost a year.
But the victory curdles fast. My six a.m. alarm pulls me back into reality. It’s time to face reality.
THE CEO
ADRIAN
I’m avoiding Heather at all costs today. I don’t want to see her face, her lips, or hear another word from her smart-ass mouth.
Settling in my chair, I try to focus while reading over this week’s highest contracts.
Heather would look even better bent over this desk…
“Adrian, we have a problem.” Theresa suddenly storms into my office without knocking. “We need to talk.”
“Is part of my building on fire?”
“No.”
“Has someone stolen money from our accounts?”
“No, Adrian.” She groans. “That’s not it.”
“Then we don’t have an emergency.” I uncap a pen. “Hold your breath and tell me whatever it is later.”
“Another one of Allyson Harmony’s books is climbing the charts.” She ignores my tone. “Well, one of her series rather.”