Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Me: I’m going to need you to come over Tuesday evening.
Astrid : Over where?
Me: My apartment.
Astrid : Why would I do that?
Me: Because you’re my assistant, and I need assistance.
I wait, but no response comes. “Didn’t like that, did you?”
Me: I have about thirty boxes I need unpacked.
Still no response.
The idea of having her here is about as attractive as fighting a wounded badger, but if I’m going to get her to either remove herself or keep a distance, then I have no choice. I have to make this so unbearable that she can’t stand it.
Astrid : Don’t choke on anything. That would be a tragedy.
Me: Have a good day, sweetheart.
I chuckle, knowing that pissed her off, and power down my phone. She’s going to fire back at me, and I’m not giving her the pleasure of getting a read receipt. And I don’t know how to turn that feature off, either.
Satisfied, I take in the bags of groceries on the counter. There’s a chance they’re laced with arsenic—and I wouldn’t put it past her to go that far—but the toxicology report on my cadaver would point directly at her, and she’s too bright not to know that. Besides, she’s only doing this to brownnose Renn, and the food is already here.
I may as well reap the benefits of it.
“She’s doing her job, and I need to focus on mine,” I say, heading to the kitchen. “That’ll be easier with a full stomach.”
I busy myself with putting the cold items away and thinking about how I’ll handle Astrid tomorrow. No matter what happens, I can’t let her think she’s going to call all the shots. That would be an epic failure on so many levels. But something tells me that she’s not going to want to show up here on Tuesday, and that might just be enough to get her to back off.
I hope.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Astrid
Gray saunters through the archway into the Royals performance center, one hand in a pocket and the other running along the top of his head. With a bag slung over his right shoulder and a pair of sunglasses hooked in the front of his crisp white T-shirt, he’s fresh and relaxed. Unrushed.
A wedge of irritation lodges itself in my throat, and I fight the urge to release a mouthful of expletives. He could’ve at least had the decency to show up breathless or in a half jog—something to imply that he cares that he’s wasted my time. We do have a job to do, after all.
I push away from the table I’ve inhabited for the last half hour with more force than necessary.
“You’re late,” I say, irked that this doesn’t seem to bother him.
“It was ten minutes. It’s not that serious.”
Excuse me?
“There are two things you should know about me.” I snap my clipboard off the table. “One is that I operate under the premise that if you’re not ten minutes early, you’re late. And being late conveys a lack of consideration for other people’s time.” I lift a brow. “In short, it’s rude.”
“I could’ve left an hour ago, and it wouldn’t have made any difference. I was stopped behind an accident three miles from here.” He lifts a brow. “Besides, don’t act like you’ve never been late before.”
Sure, I have. But I’ve also apologized for it.
Ignoring him, I proceed. “The other thing you should know is that I don’t do excuses. We can’t communicate or problem-solve if you give me a bunch of bullshit when you fuck up. Got it?”
“Then it looks like we’re not going to solve many problems, doesn’t it?”
He holds my gaze like a vise. They’re like looking into pools of the cheap chocolate you get at Easter. On the surface, it’s dazzling. But once you settle into it, you realize it’s highly unsatisfying and will only give you a stomachache.
A woman from the media department walks by, opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, but reads the room and waves instead. Before she slips into the staff entry to The Royal Café, she does a quick, not-so-subtle perusal of Gray. I roll my eyes at her little grin.
The lobby of the performance center is one of my favorite places in the Royals facilities. When Renn bought the team a couple of years ago, he completely remodeled every square inch of the building. Nothing was overlooked or untouched. However, the best transformation occurred here, in the entrance hall, where both players and staff are welcomed every day. The glass ceiling gives it a bright, solarium-like vibe. The team colors of purple and gold lend a sense of regalness to the space. Several plants dot the area thanks to Renn’s plant-loving sister-in-law, and screens highlighting team facts have been deftly positioned on the walls.
It's exciting and inspiring—unless you’re here to be a babysitter.