Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 35957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 180(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
She’s supposed to be a favor.
She’s my business partner’s niece.
She’s off-limits in every possible way.
Untouchable.
There’s only one problem — every time she looks at me, I imagine things I have no business wanting. And when she says my name, the control I’ve spent years perfecting starts to unravel. Serena Beck has me wrapped up in her, and I have no intention of letting her go.
What you'll find in Wrapped Up in
office romance
grumpy x sunshine
protective hero
temptation/forbidden
she’s the exception
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
SERENA
One week earlier
“Shit,” I mutter beneath my breath in the bathroom stall. My first day on the job, and I start my period. Of all the freaking luck I could have, this is what I’m greeted with? Luckily, I’m prepared, thanks to my mom for drilling it into my head to always pack a pair of panties, a pad, and a tampon in a plastic baggie. This started well before I hit that magical age in life where your body betrays you when you least expect it. At school, no less.
It seems I may meet my demise before the day has even started because, wouldn’t you know, I bled through not only my panties but also stained my gray skirt. I dig through my bag, grab my necessities, and make quick work of the process. There isn’t much I can do about the fabric, which sucks, completely and totally. I don’t have a magic bag full of tricks, like say stain remover, peroxide, or a spare change of clothes.
Once I’m finished, I leave the bathroom stall to wash my hands, do a quick spin in the mirror, and stare at myself in absolute horror. The one day I didn’t pack a cardigan, naturally, since I decided to clean my car out yesterday, too. Which means I don’t have any extra clothes in there, either.
I am well and truly fucked.
At the age of thirty-two, I should not be starting a brand-new career, and I should absolutely not be starting my period in the middle of the month due to stress, especially since I’m two freaking weeks early. Yet here I am. Here I fucking am.
The only thing I can do now is strategically place my bag behind me, hold it there, and pray that someone will allow me to borrow something until I can beg my mom to bring a cardigan of hers or mine. Which means I need to text her right away before she makes plans with her group of girlfriends, including my aunt.
I whip my phone out of my purse, bring up the thread with my mom, and start my text.
Me: 911.
Me: Mom. Mom. Mother!
Me: HELP ME.
Mom: Serena Lily Beck, stop giving me a freaking heart attack. What’s wrong?
Me: I started my stupid-ass period. I need a coat, a cardigan, a sweater vest, a brown paper sack, anything really.
Mom: Go to Uncle Todd’s office. Aunt Val is here with me. She said there’s some kind of sweater of hers there, but also, your uncle keeps a sports coat there, and it would go perfectly with what you’re wearing today. Val said this, the fashion icon of the century, that oversized is the “in” trend.
Me: I love you both. You’re life savers. I’m heading there now before I have to report to HR. Thank you! Hugs and kisses, talk later.
I don’t wait for a response. I’ve got places to be and people to see, and being late will only make this stressful day even more so. I strategically place my bag in such a way that it’s behind me, holding it there with the palm of my hand, and walk out of the restroom.
I’m on a mission as I step into the small hallway, unaware of my surroundings while looking at my feet instead of where I’m going.
“Oomph.” The wind is knocked out of my sails as I run straight into the hardest chest of my life. My forehead meets the brunt of it, and just when I’m about to stagger backwards and likely land on my ass, I don’t, because two strong hands wrap around my upper biceps and keep me horizontal.
“Whoa, there, you good?” When the man before me speaks, his voice has a low and rough quality. It’s so thick with a gravelly tone that I want him to keep talking so I can catch each and every word.
“Um... yeah, I think so.” I take a hesitant step back while looking up at the man who saved me from a greater demise than the bathroom incident. The way my day is going, I’d end up sprawled out, legs spread wide, and give the handsome stranger a view he would never recover from, string included, because why not?
I’m greeted with light brown eyes that remind me of a steady storm slowly building in intensity. His warm skin tone, full lips, and a strong jawline under a short beard give him a rough, lived-in edge. He’s all solid lines and broad shouldered, accompanied with a quiet strength, a type of build that looks like it comes from real work and not a gym mirror. Each time he makes a subtle movement, it’s unhurried and grounded—like a man who isn’t in a rush and never needs approval to show he’s capable of moving mountains.