Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 41482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 207(@200wpm)___ 166(@250wpm)___ 138(@300wpm)
Whole grain wheat bread. Organic, free range deli meat. Romaine lettuce. Almond milk. And a bottle of whiskey stashed at the very bottom.
There was an array of other items awfully normal for a man of his standing. I didn’t know what I expected. Maybe someone else to do the shopping for him? Maybe he didn’t eat normal things like sandwiches, and instead dined out at five-star ritzy restaurants on the daily.
I knew it was a ridiculous notion and thought, because he was just like everyone else. He was just like me. At that one dinner I had with him, he was so down to earth, funny, and I hadn’t gotten that rich, snooty attitude from him that I normally got from people who worked in the business district.
I looked down at the bottle of wine I held. It was fifteen dollars. For me, that was pretty damn expensive. “We can’t all afford hundred-dollar bottles of chianti, Mr. Shelby.” I looked back at him and smiled. I held up the bottle so he could see. “Besides, how pretty is this bottle?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “I’m not saying buy a hundred-dollar bottle of wine, Miss Morris. I’m just saying I’m sure a pretty bottle doesn’t equal a good glass of wine.”
I didn’t bother telling him I probably couldn’t tell the difference between a good glass of wine and one from a cardboard box, but instead smiled slowly, almost sarcastically, and put that pretty bottle of fifteen-dollar wine right in my basket.
He stepped closer to me and reached up to the top shelf, the scent of his cologne nearly making me moan aloud. I felt his body heat, his close proximity making me feel on edge, nervous. He pulled down a bottle of wine, the black bottle simple and elegant, the white label and silver lettering screaming expensive. He showed it to me, and I glanced down at the price, noting it was nearly a hundred bucks. To him, that was probably chump change, but to me, that was a few bottles of wine and some bars of chocolate for the next couple weeks. That or my damn water bill.
“Best bottle of wine I’ve ever had, and I’ve had some that were considered rare.” The way he said it, the sound of his voice, wasn’t snobby, wasn’t like he was trying to rub it in or brag.
I could hear the genuine sincerity of his tone, as if he wanted me to try it because he liked it and honestly wanted me see how good it was.
“I promise it’ll open up your palate.” The way he spoke, the sultriness of his voice, nearly had me giving in right then.
I didn’t like that he had this effect on me. I always kept my life in control, didn’t let anyone—least of all a man—dictate what I did or how I felt. But with Pope, I felt like things were changing. I felt like I was changing how I felt toward him.
I nodded and looked down at my bottle in my red basket. “Maybe a rain check?” I looked up at him, strands of my hair falling and obstructing my view. He was watching me with this gleam in his eyes, this hidden knowledge of something.
“Rain check. Absolutely.” He kept his gaze on my eyes for a little longer than was probably comfortable for most people... including me, because to be honest, I felt these emotions growing for him at an accelerated rate.
I opened my mouth, unsure what I was even about to say, but I closed my lips before I made a fool of myself or really crossed that line.
He’s my boss.
I work for him now.
“Until tomorrow,” he said in a voice that had my body instantly reacting.
“Tomorrow,” I said but wondered if he’d even heard me, my voice was so soft.
And then just like that, he was gone, walking down the aisle and away from me. And the craziest part of it all was the fact that all I wanted to do was say fuck protocol and rules and go after him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Olive
A week later
Istood at the ass crack of dawn in the artisan coffee shop right by the office building. The line was long, but then again, I didn’t think the business district ever slept. They were too worried about earning more money or being the first one to have the next million-dollar idea.
“Can I help who’s next?”
I stepped up to the counter and placed my order. “A double shot espresso.” After I paid for my drink and stepped to the side with the others waiting for their orders, my mind once again wandered to thoughts of Pope. And because I thought of him, I found myself reaching into my purse for my phone, pulling it out, and bringing up Dexter and Calvin’s website. I went to the executives’ page, found Pope, and for the third time read his bio.