Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“Don’t finish that sentence.” His lips crashed against mine, and my back hit the wall.
He gripped my hips to hold me steady and I wrapped my arms around his neck as he kissed me harder.
I moaned as he bit down on my bottom lip, as he whispered, “You don’t fucking hate me…”
“Yes. I. do…” I said through ragged breaths.
As if my answer offended him, he pushed me back against the wall with his hips, sliding a hand under my dress.
I gasped as I felt his cock hardening through his pants, his palm brushing against my thigh.
His tongue darted against mine, demanding me to submit. I tried to hold off, to cling to some sense of control, and then I felt him pushing aside my panties, slowly tapping his thumb against my clit.
As if he was counting down to my submission, I realized I must’ve missed the deadline.
He slid two fingers deep inside me, making me moan and open my mouth wider—giving him the angle of my lips he wanted.
His kiss made me forget every thought, every fiber of hatred, everything.
As his fingers slid in and out of me, his mouth demanded more.
“Tell me you want me…” he whispered. “Tell me you wanted me the first day we met…”
I couldn’t answer. I was too consumed by him and a kiss that was rewriting all the ones that came before it.
“Tell me…” He warned again, massaging my swollen clit with his thumb. “Tell me right now.”
Before I could even nod, he tore away, leaving me bereft.
Panting, we both stared at each other under the harsh lights.
He lifted his fingers to his mouth and slowly licked them one by one.
“Doesn’t taste like you hate me at all…” he said. “Am I mistaken?”
I was too on edge to speak.
He straightened his tie as if nothing happened. Then he smoothed the front of my dress.
“Since you ghosted me for most of today,” he said, his voice low, “I’ll see you at three a.m. tomorrow. Clear?”
My lips moved but no words came out.
“Good.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he walked away.
FOURTEEN
HARRISON
Maybe Aaron was right about firing this woman after all…
I walked into headquarters the following morning with Andrea still on my mind, with the taste of her lips still leaving me wanting more.
I’d spent the past couple of hours mentally revisiting our kiss in the cafe—hating that I had to stop before things went any further. And now I was behind on tasks because of her.
Shit.
“Morning.” I greeted the guard at the door.
“Welcome back, Mr. Cross,” he said. “Did you have a good night’s sleep?”
“You know better than to ask me that, Eric. I haven’t slept in all the years you’ve been at my companies.”
“I’m holding out hope that it’ll change one day.”
“Don’t bet on it.” I stood next to him. “Tell me what you’ve been hearing from the employees.”
“They hate you.”
That’s obvious. “Anything useful?”
“Marketing department is working on a joint resignation letter,” he said. “They’re going to post it in The New York Times at the end of the month.”
So, they think…
“The lower-level employees are icing out Miss Stone,” he continued, “and they’re planning to submit a bunch of complaints to HR ahead of her official re-interview with you.”
“Why would they do something like that?”
“I’ll keep listening.” He shrugged. “The executives seem to still like her, though. She still slips away to help them with things whenever she can.”
“So she’s been finding ways to steal time from me by doing other things…”
“No.” He shot me a look. “She’s being helpful, sir.”
“I see… Based on everything you’ve heard, would letting her go in a couple of weeks be a terrible idea?”
He didn’t answer.
“Eric?”
“It would be an utterly terrible idea, sir,” he said. “The employees’ conflicted feelings aside, they all still revere her very much. She’s still their boss—for some odd reason, in their eyes.”
“The boss more so than me?”
He said nothing again.
“Fine, then,” I said. “Keep listening.”
I went inside and took the elevator down to Human Resources. Since no one was due to be there for a few hours, I pulled the files for the employees I was due to interview today.
Taking them up to my office, I laid them out on my desk and pulled out Andrea’s file for the umpteenth time.
Unlike her coworkers, her file had enough pages to fill a book, and she never scored less than “10/10” during performance reviews. And recently, no matter who I interviewed, whenever I asked, “Who do you consider to be the best employee here?” Andrea’s name was always said.
Every. Single. Time.
What do they know that I don’t?
FOURTEEN (B)
HARRISON
Later that morning, Andrea avoided my gaze as she brought in my breakfast and files.
“Here you are, Mr. Cross,” she said.
“Miss Stone.” I avoided looking at her, too—not wanting to risk a repeat. “I need you to make sure the three grand meeting rooms are set up for my appointments this morning.”