Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
"Actually, I'm not the boss this time," she says, giving me a small, apologetic smile. "It's up to Winter whether we hire him or not. She's the one who has to live with him. The choice should be hers. Let's go meet her." She spins on her heel without waiting for a response, marching back toward the entrance to the stairwell.
Cash sighs and follows after her, grabbing the door handle before she manages to get her hand on it. The hot look he shoots her makes it clear he's obsessed with her and her strong will. The adoration in her returned grin says she knows it and she loves him for it.
Kasen falls into step beside me. "Sorry if I offended you or some shit," he mutters, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to bring up bad memories or be an asshole. We're just fucking worried about Winter. She means a lot to everyone here. She and my wife are close."
"It's all good," I say, not holding a grudge. I'd want to know the same information if our roles were reversed, though I'd probably have a few more questions. Actually, I have a few more right now, but I keep my mouth shut, figuring I'll get a chance to ask them later.
Kasen and I follow Cash and Riley into the stairwell and then through another door into the lobby of Saunders Management. The building is nice…really fucking nice. A spiral sculpture stretches toward the roof of the building dozens of floors up, guitars of every shape, color, and design mounted carefully onto it. It looks almost like a Christmas tree, only one that probably cost a small fortune because every single guitar I set my eyes on has been signed by the artist who played it.
Unlike most buildings, the floors are hardwood instead of carpet. White leather furniture rests in groups around the lobby, with gold and platinum records hanging on the walls in neat rows. The front desk is shaped like a guitar, with Saunders Management written across the front in an elegant script. It's fancy as fuck.
But the most eye-catching thing in the room is the curvy little blonde pacing in circles beside the elevator. Six steps to the south. Five to the north. The heels of her ankle boots click against the floor with each step—tap, tap, tap—belying her nervousness. Her hair tumbles down her back in waves, swishing with every anxious step she takes. The hem of her little white dress shifts around her thick thighs.
I grit my teeth, groaning as my dick presses firmly up against my zipper at the sight of her. Even from an angle, she's more beautiful in person than she is on TV. She isn't just curvy. She's thick, her body soft and round, made to be held closed and fucked right. I can already imagine it. Her dripping sweat beneath me, her round cheeks flushed pink, and her eyes dilated with pleasure. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip as she writhes beneath my touch, pleading for me to let her come.
Please, Ronan. Oh, please. Oh, please. Oh, please.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, stopping a good ten feet from her. If I get any closer, I'm not so sure I will stop. I'll put my filthy hands on her, and hands like these have no business touching a woman like that. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see the innocence dripping from her. It's right there on her face, blazing like the sun.
No wonder Kasen and Cash are so protective of her. She's young and innocent. She probably has creeps crawling out of the fucking woodwork trying to be seen on her arm. Fuck all of them. They don't deserve her. Not if they don't treat her like a queen. And if they aren't standing here right now, roaring in fury because some motherfucker just tried to kill her, they clearly aren't worth the dirt on the heels of those pretty boots.
"You're too close to the windows," I growl when she paces within range of them this time.
She gasps and spins around, one hand over her heart.
Mine beats double-time, threatening to rip right in two at the sight of the tears still drying on her cheeks. She's crying. From eyes too goddamn bottomless to ever shed a tear.
New plan. I'm going to find whoever tried to kill her and end them.
Chapter Three
Winter
I know a thing or two about grief. I've become intimately acquainted with it in the last two days. And the giant standing ten feet away from me, feet planted apart, covered in tattoos and scars, is steeped in the corrosive bite of it. He hides it behind dark ink and a darker scowl, but the eyes never lie.
They tell a story I think he knows all too well. Loss. Guilt. Pain. His story is well-seasoned with all three. They glitter in the depths of his forest green eyes and tighten his severe expression. Even scowling, he's beautiful. Full lips and a sharp jawline beneath a neatly trimmed beard soften his expression, giving him dimension beyond simple severity.