Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Don’t leave without me.
Liquor hits my fingers, trickling down to my wrist, and I dip to lick it up but stop myself. No. Placing the untouched martini on the bar and grabbing a napkin to wipe my hands, I start weaving through the room, heading for the ladies’. “Excuse me,” I mutter constantly, turning from side to side to squeeze through various crowds of people. “Pardon me.” I’m taking fairy steps in my heels, unable to walk with any pace. “Exc—” I stop dead in my very slow tracks when I literally bump into Thomas.
“Camryn,” he says, looking all kinds of awkward.
“What?”
“You’re leaving?”
“No, I need the ladies’. But I’m already over my promised time, Thomas. Is there anyone else you want me to bullshit before I leave?”
Laughter erupts from him, sending his body bending back. “Yes, yes, ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m very all right.” He clears his throat. “Camryn, this is Dec Ellis.”
My heart feels like it grinds to a stop in my chest as I cast my eyes to the left. And I stare at him. Just stare at him, as he stares at me, a drop of his martini left in the glass. “Camryn,” he says, his voice doing all its usual things to me, his hand extending. “What a pleasure.”
Ha. Ha.
So we don’t know each other? Right. Okay.
With slightly narrowed eyes, I put my hand in his, certain it’s not a good idea. And it’s not. Merely his skin on mine sets off tiny explosions across my body. It takes everything in me and more to keep myself steady and poised in front of my boss. “The pleasure is all mine.” Something scarily similar to a sickly-sweet smile breaks my pursed mouth without instruction, and a cocky one definitely ghosts Dec’s.
“It will be,” he mouths, tightening his hold. Fuck. My composure is slipping. Can’t have that. I tighten my hand too.
“How’s the handshake?” Dec asks, pouting his lips over the rim of his glass as he finishes the last drop.
“Pretty pathetic for a businessman.”
“Ha-ha-ha!” Thomas blurts, holding his belly. “I told you she’s a firecracker.”
“You’ve been talking about me?”
“Were your ears burning?” Dec raises his brows. No, Dec. Not my ears. Just the rest of my body.
I’m acutely aware that to these two men, I am two vastly different women. Dec’s seen moments of vulnerability, a woman who’s conflicted and at odds with her past and future. He’s seen the cracks. Thomas has only ever encountered me at work, where I show no fear or hesitancy, where I command and dictate. Where I am cold and hard-nosed.
Interest is a storm in Dec’s eyes. How long will he hold back the questions written all over his magnificent face? “Care to catch me up?” I ask, tearing my gaze off Dec and my hand from his before Thomas notices our . . . what? Connection? The electricity subtly sizzling between us? The fact I’m wobbling slightly on my heels? All of these reactions to Dec Ellis have taken me by surprise to say the least.
Thomas snorts, flapping a hand flippantly. “Just friendly chitchat.”
“Friendly chitchat,” Dec confirms quietly, almost tiredly.
“Oh look, dinner’s up.” Thomas points toward the ballroom as he heads that way, the crowds starting to bottleneck there. I hadn’t even noticed everyone had moved from around us, giving me air. Because with Dec around, breathing is hard, whether I’m stifled or not.
“Wanna get out of here?” he asks, moving into my side.
I look up at him, this fine form of a man, and not for the first time I ask myself . . . why me? My heart’s beating so hard, there’s no mistaking that I’m alive. I sometimes wonder. If I’m really alive or not, I wonder that. Only the grief confirms I am.
Cruel.
“Yes,” I breathe. “I do.”
“Let’s go.” Dropping his glass on a passing waiter’s tray, Dec places his hand on the small of my back and guides me toward the exit. “Do you have a coat?”
“No.”
“Really? It’s five degrees out there, Camryn.” He stops at the cloakroom and hands over a ticket, and a moment later he’s covering my shoulders with a black wool overcoat. “I have a feeling you’re going to suggest walking home,” he says on an unimpressed mutter.
“I like walking with you.”
“I like walking with you too.” He holds his hand out to me. “I don’t want you to shake it this time.”
I place my hand in his and let him lead me out of The Dorchester, then we start the long walk home that’s going to feel much shorter than it is.
The silence is comfortable, as it is more often than not, but I hear the endless questions swirling in that mind of his. Which will he lead with, if any?
We’re at Euston Road before Dec finally breaks the silence. “Your boss’s description of you is contradictory to who I know.”