Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 77(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 77(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
“It’s not Christmas yet,” Peter said. “There’s no need to take an entire day off. You can take two hours off.”
Justin rolled his eyes with a laugh. “God, you’re impossible. Tomorrow is Sunday. I’m not supposed to be working on Sunday at all.”
“You’re getting paid for your work.”
“Money isn’t everything. I need some me time, Peter. I don’t actually remember the last time I left this building. I swear this couch has permanent indents from my ass. Don’t get me wrong—it’s pretty soft and comfortable, but I actually miss sleeping in a real bed.” He grinned. “Surely you can survive one day without me?”
Peter leveled him with a flat look. “Fine. Have a day off. I expect you here on Monday at seven sharp.”
“Yessir,” Justin said with far too much cheek for someone still working at eight PM on Saturday, and nearly ran out of the room, as though afraid that Peter would change his mind.
Peter scowled and turned his attention back to the contract he had been reading, but try as he might, he couldn’t seem able to focus on it, his mood souring.
Sighing, he rolled his chair back and got to his feet.
He might as well take the evening off. Have a shot of scotch and maybe get laid.
Chapter 3
He did have a shot of scotch at the bar across the street, but the getting laid part of the plan wasn’t going great.
Not for lack of opportunity. For all Justin’s jokes about his arrogance, it wasn’t based on nothing. Peter simply didn’t suffer from false modesty: he knew he was attractive, and other people knew it too. He was tall, he worked hard to keep himself in shape, and his dark hair was still thick and without a hint of gray. Peter had never had trouble getting laid even when he’d been an awkward teenager. As a successful lawyer of thirty-nine wearing a bespoke suit, he certainly didn’t lack for offers that evening, both from women and men alike.
He just wasn’t interested.
Peter scanned the bar with his eyes, silently observing over the rim of his glass, but no one caught his interest, despite the low hum of need under his skin. He wanted something, but he wasn’t sure what. He wasn’t even sure it was sex he wanted.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Peter looked at the tall blonde who had just taken the seat next to him. She was his type—gorgeous, elegantly dressed, and confident—and from the way she was smiling at him, he could tell that she was looking for a good night and nothing more. She was practically perfect in every way.
But there was still nothing: he didn’t feel even a flicker of attraction, his body completely uninterested, as if he didn’t have an objectively stunning woman trying to pick him up. It was starting to unsettle him. He’d never had a problem with his sex drive. He was a healthy man in his prime.
“Sure,” Peter said, pushing away his unease.
She signaled the bartender to refill his drink. “I’m usually not so forward,” she said with a smile. “But you have really striking eyes. So blue. I couldn’t resist. I’m Karen.”
Peter smiled back. “Peter.”
Over the next hour, he smiled and flirted, going through the motions of a mating dance and trying to ignore the strange urge to move and do something.
By the time they got to his penthouse, he was more than a little buzzed, the alcohol dulling the sense of wrongness and the urge to be elsewhere. She was shivering and moaning against his mouth, her hands roaming all over his shoulders and back.
He still felt nothing—nothing but the urge to pull away. His cock remained soft. That never fucking happened to him.
Trying not to freak out, Peter gently pushed the woman away. “Look, I’m sorry about this, but I don’t feel good. Raincheck?”
She stared up at him with a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “Figures,” she said with a sigh. “I knew there must have been something wrong with you if you were alone at the bar looking the way you look.”
“Thanks,” Peter said wryly. “It’s not you, really. I’m just not in the mood. I thought I was, but I was wrong.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is it the soulmates thing?”
“What?” Peter laughed. “No. I don’t believe that bullshit.”
She studied him thoughtfully. “Maybe you should. I’ve heard that some people are having problems down there if they aren’t with their soulmates. I thought you were like me—people lucky enough not to be affected by that spell, but maybe you aren’t.”
Peter frowned, starting to get irritated. “I don’t have a soulmate. That silly spell doesn’t work on me.”
Karen just shook her head, picked up her purse, and left.
Peter’s mood went downhill from there.
Shrugging off his suit jacket, he walked to the mini-bar and poured himself another shot of scotch. He stared at its surface.