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)
Clearly Marco did too, as he said, “I thought that was the group shot? We got that a few hours ago.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Jasper said, with all the authority of a crazy rich man who got whatever he wanted when it came to his brand.
“Okay,” Marco said, then asked, “And what will Hallie be wearing? We’ve used all the allotted garments.”
“All but one,” Jasper said. Marco frowned in confusion. “The new sample has just come in. I want her in that.”
“I didn’t know you’d commissioned a new colorway, sir.” Marco headed to another storeroom. He stopped before he got to the door, turned back to Jasper, and asked, “What color is it, sir?”
“Turquoise,” Jasper said without stalling, and my heart thudded to a complete stop. Jasper met my eyes and ran his tongue over his lips. “I want her wearing turquoise.”
It was pitch black by the time we finished. I was bone tired, but energy flowed through me with the force of a million cups of coffee as Jasper pulled up to the back door in his Range Rover. I went to rush through the pouring rain to get in when he opened the driver’s-side door and dashed around to open the passenger door for me instead. He didn’t say anything, but gestured for me to get in. The sight made me a little weak at the knees.
I was dressed in gym leggings and an oversize Knighton Equestrian sweater that Marco had handed us to wear when we got cold in between shots. I felt I looked too rough and underdressed to step into a car that likely cost more than many people’s homes. But when Jasper said tightly, “Ms. Oakley,” and flicked his head—an instruction to get in—my legs moved of their own accord, and I jumped into the seat.
I almost groaned as I sank into the butter-soft leather. Jasper was in the driver’s side in seconds, pushing his hand through his now-wet hair. It was so dark with the rain it looked like strands of black ink.
As Jasper put on his seat belt, I said, “Hallie.”
Jasper looked up through heavy dark lashes and pinned me with his midnight gaze. I swallowed under his heavy attention. He raised an eyebrow. He looked so dominant in that moment, I almost had to look away. But I held strong. I swallowed. “You keep calling me Ms. Oakley,” I said, my voice sounding too loud in the quiet car. “I’d prefer it if you called me Hallie.”
He stared at me as I put that to him again. I was trying to keep a distance, keep professional, but Jasper referring to me by my formal name just seemed strange. We could be civil and friendly without crossing any lines.
We had to.
“You’d prefer it,” he said, not a question, just a murmur to himself.
“Yes, please,” I replied plainly, ignoring the hint of authority in his voice, then shivered as the rain and cold from today seemed to sink into my soul.
Jasper must have noticed, as he began pressing buttons, and in seconds my car seat warmed up and the vents directly opposite me on the dashboard blew hot air over my frozen frame. I settled back, enjoying the warmth thawing the chill, when the seat began to vibrate and I realized it was giving me a massage.
I moaned a little in surprise, and Jasper’s grip became so tight on the steering wheel that the leather creaked under his hands. The heat from the chair and vents must have been too hot, because suddenly, every part of me felt alight.
Jasper pulled out of the parking lot and onto the back roads that led to Golden Oaks. It had taken us an hour to get here this morning, and it quickly dawned on me: I was stuck in this car with Jasper for that long going home. And he wasn’t saying anything. There was no music playing, and the heavy silence was making my head spin.
This was awkward. I knew it was going to be awkward, but I couldn’t take an hour of this. He was too sullen, too silent . . . too goddamn close to me. I cast him a sideways glance. His mouth was tight, his hands gripped the wheel even tighter, causing the muscles in his forearms to ripple and veins to push from his skin. It shouldn’t have been that attractive. But it was maddeningly hot, and I snapped my focus out the windshield to think of anything else.
After another five minutes of unbearable, strained silence, I blurted, “Thank you for taking me home.” I had to say something, or I was going to scream. I wasn’t the loudest person by any stretch, but being in a car with someone I not only admired but was also highly attracted to—even though his attitude was less than desired—was too much for me to take.