Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Don’t you dare self-deprecate. You are the sexiest little bookworm I’ve ever seen. I mean, hello. Look at that pajama set!”
I glance down my body, forgetting that I’m basically wearing lingerie. One of my vices is pretty underthings, a direct contradiction to my conservative wardrobe.
Demur on the outside.
Sassy underneath.
I love having a secret only I know.
“Anyway.” I go to my room and walk into my closet, pulling down a baby-blue cashmere sweater and pairing it with jeans. “I don’t think he knew who I was.”
Blaire stops crunching her toast and stares at me. “You’re lying.”
“No. He didn’t recognize me.” I’m sure of it. “Whatever. I’ll call you once I get to work; I have to fix my hair.”
I end the call on her protest. Dress. Tame my sex hair, pulling it into a slick back bun and finishing it off with a small, pearl barrette. Gold earrings. Gold necklace.
Satin ballet flats.
It’s thirty-five minutes later when I pull into the parking garage at the Ice Wolves corporate office, and my iced latte sloshes around the cup as I dash inside. My shoes are silent as I race across the sleek marble floors, a smile on my face as I walk through the department toward my new cubicle.
Movement in the hallway.
Voices that are deep. Male.
My heart stops pounding, I swear it. And because I can’t stand not knowing, I wheel my chair back several inches to gape out the doorway of my hamster enclosure.
Aaron.
Of course it’s him…
In crisp dress pants. Blue button-down. Suit jacket slung over one shoulder looking like he stepped out of a business meeting. He’s mid-conversation with Brian from legal, head tilted, mouth fixed into a serious line.
Stand up and say something, Juliette…
Don’t be a shrinking violet.
My palms press to the armrests preparing to stand. I draw in a breath, shove my chair back, and—
“Jules!”
Ugh!
No, dammit, no.
I turn slowly.
My brother stands in all his overconfident, handsome, six-foot-two glory: energy drink in hand, crooked badge, locked-and-loaded grin flashing with fake teeth.
“Holy shit, there you are,” Declan says. “I’ve been walking up and down this floor ; fucking dipshit looking for you.” His grin is big and giddy. “Look how cute you are in your little office. I should take a picture for Mom and Dad.”
“Please don’t.” I plop back into my chair. “What are you doing here?”
He takes a healthy chug of his drink, tossing the can into my trash as if he were tossing a basketball. “Meeting.”
Ahh. That must be what Aaron is doing here.
I rise on my haunches, trying to catch another glimpse at him, and my brother catches me, eyes trailing to his right as I make eye contact with Aaron above the top of my office.
His eyes are on Declan now, and if I had to put a name to the expression on his face it would be hostile.
Something passes over his face, dark as a storm cloud as his gaze lingers, eyes snapping from me to my brother, frown growing. Declan’s entire demeanor goes from cheerful and chatty to downright agitated.
“What?” I ask, fidgeting in my seat, hyper-aware of his intense gaze.
Declan watches me quietly. “Seriously, Juliette? Aaron Bishop?”
I feign ignorance. “I have no idea why you’re using his name in a sentence right now.”
He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend I’m an idiot, and I can’t read your face.”
My arms fold defensively, heat crawling up my neck. “I barely know him.”
“I saw your look.”
“So?”
“You sucked in a breath when you thought he was looking at you!” he hisses as my mouth opens to immediately deny it.
Snaps closed. I had sucked in a breath.
I am an amateur…
“Jesus Christ, Juliette.” He studies me another second, then exhales through his nose. “Has he been over here talking to you?”
I scoff again. “Why would he be over here talking to me?”
Because his mouth was on my… you know. Lady business?
My brother doesn’t respond; lets his eyes stay trained on the hallway where Aaron was standing, jaw working like he’s chewing gum. Gritting his teeth.
“Would it be a problem if he had been talking to me?” I continue, unfazed by his irritation. “Aren’t you and your teammates all friends?”
He hesitates before saying, “Yeah.” Drags a hand over his face. “Jules, listen. If that guy tries to talk to you—”
“Tries to talk to me about what?”
“Just—” He cuts himself off. Glances around like the cubicle walls might be listening. “Don’t engage, okay?”
My stomach flips.
“Engage with him about what?” I whisper conspiratorially. “Did he do something horrible that I should know about? Is he violent?”
Declan shakes his head slowly.
I study his face, searching for the brother who used to tell me everything. Who used to rant to me about bad grades but then trust me not to tell my parents he snuck out to party. Or got drunk when he was underage. Or dented the car after hitting the garage door.