Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“You didn’t?” he called after me.
“Nope. I gave you ten.” I closed the sliding glass door on his infuriating ass and got my day started. With any luck, the next six months would be the last I’d have to spend with Nixon Winters.
* * *
The rest of that week, he did his best to show me exactly how much trouble he could get into when left alone for those ten precious minutes.
In the time it took me to go to the bathroom, he left the building entirely. I found him at a driving range forty minutes later, slaughtering golf balls with the worst swing known to man. When he’d looked genuinely surprised to see me, I simply crossed my arms and waited for him to finish. What? Like I wouldn’t have his phone tracked? I wasn’t a rookie, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to fail when I was this close to making it.
I’d be able to hold my head up in my little town the next time I went home.
Today, I’d taken a call with Ben on the deck, and four minutes later, found myself racing for the car, tracking Nixon’s cell phone through traffic to a yoga studio.
“I’m going to throttle him,” I muttered, shoving the heavy glass door open a little harder than necessary and walking straight into a small, crowded reception room with a dozen people in exercise clothes.
“Just a moment, and we’ll begin our session,” a calm voice called from the back of the room.
I rose on my tiptoes, sweeping my gaze from left to right, but I felt a tap on my shoulder before I hit the midpoint.
“Glad to see you could join us,” Nixon said, flashing a smirk from under his ball cap. At least he hadn’t been recognized yet.
“Seriously? This isn’t on the schedule. And you couldn’t wait for me to get off the phone?” I turned to face him, thankful we were in a corner.
“Not everything has to be scheduled, Shannon. There’s this little thing called spontaneity.” He folded his arms over his chest, pulling the fabric of his T-shirt tight against his biceps.
“Then be spontaneous when I’m not on the phone!”
“Friends, we’re ready for you now,” the voice called out over the crowd, and people began moving toward the back of the room.
“Guess it’s time.” Nixon leaned over and picked up two rolled yoga mats, holding one out toward me. “Figured you might be unprepared.”
“It’s hard to be prepared when you don’t tell me what you’re doing,” I muttered, glancing at the light blue mat. “Wait, I’m not doing yoga. I’m in a freaking pants suit!”
“Better than a dress.” He shrugged, moving around me and heading toward the reception desk. The rest of the class had already filed into the studio.
“I’ll just wait for you out here.” I clutched the long strap of my messenger bag, already mentally planning what I could get done during his session.
“And when I sneak out the back door?” he asked over his shoulder.
I blew out a long, frustrated breath. “Fine. I’ll watch from inside.”
“Put her session on me,” Nixon told the receptionist as he walked by, then paused to hold the door open to the studio. “Let’s go, Shannon. You’re making us late.”
“I’m making us? Ugh. Thanks.” I took the mat he offered and walked into the studio. It was bright, with pale hardwood floors and lined with mirrors. The rest of the class had already taken their positions, leaving the back row open. I found a spot against the wall and set my bag down as Nixon kicked off his shoes and spread out his mat.
I sat against the wall and did my best not to notice the way his athletic pants draped over the curve of his ass but failed miserably until the instructor stepped into my line of sight.
“Come now, there’s room right here,” she said with a glowing smile, gesturing to the space next to Nixon.
“Oh, no, I’m just watching.” I offered her a smile of my own and reached into my bag for my planner.
“There are no spectators here,” she said joyfully. “Only participants. Tell me, do you want to be a participant in this world? Or are you going through life as a spectator?”
My jaw dropped an inch.
“Yeah, Shannon. Are you really just existing to watch other people?” Nixon asked with mock concern, his eyes dancing.
My eyes narrowed slightly on Nixon before turning back to the instructor. “Fine. I’ll participate,” I told her, slipping off my heels.
“Good. Your attire might limit your motions, so just modify as you feel comfortable,” she said in a soothing tone that grated on my every nerve. “Welcome to Baa-Maste.” She walked away, taking her position at the head of the class.
“Weirdest name ever, but okay,” I muttered, unbuttoning my suit coat and draping it over my bag. At least my silk blouse was sleeveless and my pants had a little Lycra for stretch.