Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Dr. Stuart,” Patrizio says, his gaze never leaving mine, “I was hoping to continue our conversation from last week. Perhaps somewhere more...private.”
“Private?” The word comes out embarrassingly squeaky.
“My office is upstairs,” he explains, gesturing toward the elevator at the back of the café. “We could continue discussing Annie’s academic progress without...interruptions.”
The way he says “interruptions” makes it clear he’s referring to our previous meeting, which was indeed interrupted...by my complete mortification when he found my Kindle.
“I don’t think—”
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Elissa chimes in, the backstabbing betrayal complete. “You two clearly have academic matters to discuss.”
I shoot her a look that promises painful retribution, but she just blinks at me like she’s suddenly not the smartest person I know.
“See you at home.”
And then she’s gone, abandoning me to my fate like the traitor she is.
“Shall we?” Patrizio gestures toward the elevator with that same knowing smile that makes my stomach flip.
Having all eyes on us is the only reason I struggle to keep my cool as he walks me to the elevator. I don’t want to cause a stir. I have my reputation as a respectable college professor to think of. That’s all there is to this, and I am absolutely not excited to be alone with him.
I swear!
The elevator opens directly into his penthouse, which is exactly as intimidating as you’d expect from a man who owns buildings and psychologically torments professors for entertainment.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. Furniture that’s just so perfectly themed it has to be custom-ordered. Art that looks like it belongs in museums. It’s the kind of space that makes you intensely aware of your own tendency to spill coffee on expensive things.
“What would you like to drink?”
I’m about to tell him I don’t drink when I realize he’s already headed to an espresso machine that looks so complicated I feel like you need an advanced degree in chemistry just to find the power switch.
“Do you want your usual?”
“Yes, please.”
I’m pretty sure he has no idea what my usual is, but oh, the arrogance of this man to still offer making it.
I hear his machine get to work, and I can feel my body relaxing as the scent of coffee soon fills his living room. Mm. Maybe that was his plan all along? To lower my guard with a caffeinated attack?
“You can sit down, Jayne. I’m not going to bite.”
Yeah right.
I perch on the edge of his sofa, which is leather and probably Italian and definitely the kind of furniture that normal people aren’t allowed to sit on. Everything about this place screams wealth and power and the sort of casual dominance that makes smart women do stupid things.
Like follow strange men to their penthouses for “private conversations.”
A few more moments pass before Patrizio joins me in the living room and hands me my coffee.
Careful, Jayne.
I’m pretty sure this priceless-looking cup will land me in debt if I accidentally break it.
But then I take a sip, and my gaze immediately flies to his.
How?
How is it possible that he’s made a triple shot cappuccino with exactly the right amount of foam and not a hint of sugar, exactly the way I like it?
“Surprised?” he asks, settling into an armchair across from me with his own cup. Espresso, by the smell of it.
“How did you know my coffee preference?”
But Patrizio only smiles at this before changing the subject.
“I’ve been reading your books.”
And of course it has to be the one subject which I’d rather not talk about.
“You have no right—”
But he just goes on like privacy invasion is nothing to him. “What is it about those books that you find fascinating?”
“Can we please not talk about this?” I grip my coffee cup like it’s a shield against embarrassment. “You said you wanted to discuss Annie’s academic progress.”
“I do.” He leans forward slightly, and the movement shouldn’t be threatening but somehow it makes my pulse race. “And that’s exactly the reason I’m asking you these questions. I want to understand why her professor is so fascinated by the exact subject she’s researching.”
“I’ve already told you, I—”
“Read them for academic research. Yes, I remember.” His smile suggests he finds my denial amusing. “That’s why you’ve read ‘Taken in the Hallway’ seven times and highlighted the scene where the heroine gets cornered by the motorcycle club president and finally admits what she really wants.”
I’m going to die. Actually die of mortification right here on his ridiculously expensive sofa.
“Mr. Steele—”
“Patrizio,” he corrects, and somehow his first name feels even more dangerous on my lips than ‘Mr. Steele’ ever did.
“Patrizio,” I try again, and the way his eyes darken when I say his name makes something flutter in my stomach. “What exactly do you want from me?”
“Honesty would be a good start.” He stands in one fluid motion and moves to sit beside me on the sofa. Not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat of his body. “Tell me why you’re so interested in these stories, Jayne.”