Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
And I think about how he told me about his dad. Spilled it like blood and then refused to acknowledge it after the fact. It told me that there’s deep pain there. “You know, I’m not against you, Grizz.”
His reflection in the window goes still. “No?”
“No. I’m trying to help you. You think I enjoy chasing you around locker rooms and dragging you into cabs? I’m doing my job. You just make it—”
“Fun?”
“Maddening.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “So what, you want me to start saying please and thank you? Hold doors?”
“I want you to stop acting like every rule is an attack on your freedom,” I say. “And maybe stop smiling every time you make my day worse.”
He laughs, softer this time. Almost surprised. “You noticed that, huh?”
“I notice everything,” I say. “It’s literally my job to notice.”
He looks at me, eyes glinting the way they did in that bar just before he kissed me. “And what do you notice now?”
Emotion clamps down on my voice. “That you’re enjoying this.”
He grins wider. “Maybe I am.”
“Why?”
He thinks about it for half a second, eyes dropping away before meeting mine again and I can see he’s not amused now. “Because you don’t fake it. Everyone else around me fakes it. They laugh at my jokes, nod when I talk, pretend I’m not an asshole. You don’t.”
“That’s not a compliment.”
“Sure it is,” he says. “Means you’re interesting.”
I swallow hard. “I’d rather be effective.”
He leans in, not enough to touch me, but enough that his presence fills the small space between us. His voice drops. “You can be both.”
The air feels heavier for a beat. Too warm suddenly. Definitely too close. My pulse hammers at my throat and I look away first, completely annoyed with myself. “Unbelievable,” I mutter.
He grins. “That’s what they tell me.”
The cab jerks to a stop, brakes squealing as we pull up to the curb.
“That’ll be fifteen dollars, twenty-five cents,” the driver says over his shoulder.
“I’ll pay by card,” I reply quickly, swiping before Grizz can even reach for his wallet—not that he looks like he intends to.
He stretches lazily, cracking his neck. “Generous of you, Turner.”
I shoot him a glare. “I’ll be expensing this.”
We climb out of the cab and I button my coat. The air outside is cold, the late autumn type that makes your eyes water and your patience thin. “Let’s get started before this day becomes any more challenging,” I say, gripping my phone.
“Whatever gets this shit over with,” Grizz mutters, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Where the hell is this restaurant?”
I unlock my phone, thumb scrolling over the screen as I pull up the email from Langley’s assistant. “It’s right here—420 Greenwich.”
We both look around. Residential block. Corner deli. A dog groomer. Definitely not a high-end restaurant.
I scroll again, panic climbing up my throat. “It says 420 Greenwich. This should be it.”
“Let me see,” Grizz says, holding out his palm.
“I’ve got it under control.”
He doesn’t move his hand. “You clearly don’t.”
I exhale through my nose and give him the phone. He glances once at the screen, then utters a quiet, satisfied hum. “Yeah, you’re right, 420 Greenwich. But one tiny detail you missed. This is Greenwich Avenue,” he says, pointing up at the street sign. “You were supposed to take us to Greenwich Street. Two very different places.”
I stare at him, speechless, grabbing my phone back and peering at the address. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Easy mistake—for someone who’s not from New York.”
“I live here,” I snap.
“Uh-huh.”
I look down at my watch. “We’re twenty minutes late.”
“Correction,” he says, deadpan. “Now we’re thirty-five minutes late, by the time we actually get there.”
Panic swells and I pull up my contacts list. I tap Kendra, who heads up the PR department for Bartiz. The phone rings once, twice, three times, then goes to her voicemail. I wait impatiently for the tone and leave a harried message. “Kendra… look, we’re running a bit late, but we’ll be there as soon as we can. Just hold tight.”
I disconnect the call. “Perfect,” I mutter under my breath. “Now they probably think we bailed.”
“Maybe they’ll start without us,” Grizz says, leaning against a streetlamp.
I glare at him. “Without us? You’re the reason they’re doing this. If you hadn’t been such a distraction, we’d be there already.”
He laughs under his breath. “So this is my fault?”
“Yes, it’s your fault.” I look up and down the street, praying for a cab.
“I wasn’t the one reading addresses like some tourist,” he points out.
I spin to face him. “You were the one playing ping-pong instead of being ready when you were supposed to be!”
He lifts both hands in mock surrender. “Touché.”
A cab rounds the corner, mercifully empty. I wave it down and fifteen minutes later, we finally pull up to Bartiz. It’s between a wine bar and an art gallery in Tribeca. A few team staffers stand by the entrance looking panicked.