Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 30858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 154(@200wpm)___ 123(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
“But is it there?”
“You’re just trying to assert more control over me before our trip,” I said. “I’ve seen you do this with your clients before, but I need you to know that it will not work on me.”
“Miss Dawson—”
“The passive aggressiveness, the long ‘Do what I say or else’ stare, and the arched brow—”
As if on cue, he arched his brow.
“Those don’t work for the next few weeks, because you need me more than I need you.”
“Are you done yet?”
“I have three more things to say.”
“I’ll listen to one.”
“Then I’ll go in reverse.” I stepped closer to him. “Three, I’ve told you that none of my family members will believe this charade if you don’t start being nice to me. Last time I checked, you haven’t even tried.”
He started to walk past me, but I blocked him, planting my body in front of the doors.
“Two, when we agree to something, you need to hold up your end of the deal just like you expect me to do. And one—”
“You’re way past one.”
“We’re equals now.” I glared at him. “You’re not my superior, and I’m not taking any orders while we’re together.”
“This wasn’t part of our deal, Miss Dawson,” he said, closing the gap between us. “Now you’re just making shit up.”
“It’s just a minor revision,” I said as he clenched his jaw. “Isn’t that how it works?”
“We need to take a picture in front of the holiday tree at headquarters for the photographer.”
“For what?”
“Because according to Mr. Reaves, it doesn’t make sense for a guy who cares so much about the holidays not to have a picture in front of his favorite thing with his new fiancée.”
“I came here to pick you up.”
“That’s okay.” I moved away from him. “I’d rather enjoy my last hours of freedom away from you.”
“I’m not making a goddamn request.”
“You have to be.” I grabbed my coat and tossed Diana my keys. “You’re not currently my boss for the next few weeks, remember?”
I rushed outside and into Francis’s town car.
“To headquarters,” I said. “Please put a rush on it.”
“Right away, Miss Dawson.”
He sped off without asking a question.
My stomach dropped when Francis pulled in front of headquarters.
Through the glass doors, I could see a bunch of my coworkers taking their own pictures, and I didn’t want them to see me and Nicholas taking one together.
Before I could tell him to speed off and take me home, my back door opened and Nicholas reached for my hand.
I didn’t take it.
I grabbed my purse and rushed ahead of him.
“There she is…”
“You think she’s quitting after the holidays?”
“Why didn’t she tell us first?”
I ignored the whispers and made my way down the hall to where a small forest of fir trees stood, out of everyone’s sight.
Nicholas rounded the corner seconds later, glaring at me.
“This is good enough,” I said, waving my hand. “Tell the photographer to snap us here and tell Mr. Reaves to mind his business.”
“Your engagement is literally my business.” Mr. Reaves stepped in front of us, biting into a cookie. “Why wouldn’t you want the picture in front of the biggest display here, Mrs. Saint?”
Stop calling me that.
“We’re really low-key about ‘us,’” I said, refusing to look at Nicholas. “We don’t do public displays of affection.”
“Yeah, I was marking that down in my file earlier,” he said. “I understand why you two have kept this under wraps for so long, given the work situation, but I find it a bit odd that I received thousands of proof photos of you at various conferences and on trips and such… but no affection. Not so much as a hug.”
“Are you here to direct a Hallmark movie or do your job?” Nicholas asked.
“I’m just saying…” He tapped his chin. “Seems kind of calculated, in a way. You could easily be faking this entire thing—which I’d have to report. And even if it wasn’t true, it would delay the inheritance from being doled out, so—”
Nicholas grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hall, back to the lobby.
“Can you give us a second to take this picture, please?” He spoke to someone in the crowd I couldn’t see, and the company photographer held up his fingers.
“Okay,” he said. “Merry Christmas to Mr. Saint on the count of one, two—”
On three, his mouth covered mine.
Not giving me a chance to pull away, he wrapped his arms around my waist—letting his tongue dance with mine as the cameras flashed.
I bit back a moan as his fingers caressed my back, as he bit down hard on my bottom lip, whispering, “You have no idea how thoroughly I would fuck you if you were ever in my bed…”
He dropped one hand from my hips and threaded his fingers through my hair, pulling my head closer, teasing me with his tongue, silently demanding that I open my mouth wider.