Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
I turned behind me and saw two cars parked in the reserved spots next to the door. Both had private license plates. One read “APK” and the other “JHK.” The cars were top-of-the-line Range Rovers, and my stomach rolled when I realized who one of them most likely belonged to. JHK—Jasper Harold Knighton. I imagined the other belonged to Atticus, but I’d keep that piece of information from Sage until she’d had her coffee. If she knew Atticus was going to be here after two weeks of successfully avoiding him, she would go nuclear.
Straightening my shoulders, I quickly followed Marco and Sage into a large kitchen/break room, and my friend beelined for the tray of coffee pods. She opened the refrigerator, then turned to me, fury on her face. “How does this country still not have proper coffee creamer? Flavored or otherwise?” She pouted like a three-year-old. “I miss my fave cinnamon creamer from Whole Foods.”
“We have really good tea bags here in the warehouse,” Marco offered as a solution. “I ordered them myself from Harrods. Made from the finest tea leaves money can buy.”
Sage smiled sweetly at Marco, but I saw the simmering rage bubbling underneath her surface. “Tea doesn’t quite give me the same hit as sugar-laden coffee does, sweetheart. But thanks for the offer.” Marco blinked, stunned at Sage’s candor as she popped a pod into the machine and practically inhaled it when it was finished.
Sage thrust a cup into my hand, then made a second coffee for herself. I blew a kiss at her in thanks, and Marco gestured for us to sit down at the break-room table.
Marco laid some papers on the tabletop and said, “The shoot will be over the next couple of days. Today will be the still shots here in the warehouse, showcasing the details of the new season’s apparel. Tomorrow will be at Golden Oaks, where we’ll do action shots of you both on your horses for this year’s tour.” He looked at each of us. “Is that okay?”
“Yep,” I said, and Sage nodded with a mouthful of coffee.
“When you’re ready, we’ll get you into hair and makeup,” Marco said, and we followed him into a room next door.
Sage and I sat down on two makeup chairs to meet Sarah, the makeup artist, and Jamie, our hairstylist. They got to work on us immediately. I always found this part of my career a novelty. We didn’t do shoots often, but we’d done them enough to be used to this kind of pampering. It was a welcome change from boots covered in shit and mud. It seemed so far away from my old life it was laughable.
Classic rock played behind us, and I closed my eyes. My pulse immediately raced, and all the work I’d done to forget Jasper over the past several days unraveled when all I could think of was that Range Rover outside. Was he here? I mean, probably? This was his company. But would I see him? Would he even be involved in the shoot? I had no idea how hands-on a brand owner he was.
I felt anxious thinking he would show up. My mind took me back to the fountain, and I squeezed my thighs together. I wasn’t proud of myself, but by the time I’d gotten back to my cottage that night, I was in bed in no time with my hand slipped down the front of my pants. I came hard, in mere seconds, and had to bite down on my bottom lip to stop my cry from sailing through the walls to where Sage slept.
Just the idea of him being here today brought goose bumps to my skin. When I didn’t see him, I could keep him on the periphery of my mind. If I saw him . . . I had no idea if all my hard work would be blown to smithereens.
“No!” I suddenly heard Sage wail, yanking me from my thoughts. “No, no, NO!”
I opened my eyes. My best friend was gripping the arms of her makeup chair and glaring her most vicious glare at the doorway. I looked to my left, only to see Atticus Knighton leaning against the doorframe, shirtless, with a wide smile on his face.
“Nice to see you again, Miller,” he said, his voice like silk and his accent thick with humor. If Sage could breathe fire, in this moment, I was sure she would.
“What are you doing here, shithead?” she said through gritted teeth as Sarah kept applying contour to her cheeks. I had to say, even through her rage, Sage’s makeup looked incredible.
Atticus stretched his muscled arms over his head and rested them on the top of the doorframe. His abs were cut, and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his body. A fact I’m sure my best friend had noticed but would never admit, even under pain of death.