Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
And me, on the other end of the connection, eagerly awaiting his next command.
God, what I wouldn’t give for another round.
Suddenly, the door opens.
I scramble to get up from the seat, almost tumbling over on my feet.
A suited man with thick, dark hair, and those same full lips steps in. Declan.
Chapter 9
Declan
When I returned from a talk with Sarah about the event, and how one of the girls had given us a notice that she was going to cancel the contract, I was expecting to have my office to myself so I could figure out a plan for the missing girl.
Instead, one of them is sitting in my chair right this very moment.
I never requested for anyone to come up. Why is she here?
When she spots me, she immediately jumps up from my seat and bumbles about the room, trying not to make a fool out of herself … even though she is. I cock my head as I watch her collect herself, wondering what in the ever-living shit is going on.
“Um … hi,” she says, her voice giggly and a little agitated, but cute.
“Hello,” I say, licking my lips.
“Sorry, I was just …” She doesn’t seem at all certain of what she’s saying, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s trying to make something up on the spot or if she’s momentarily fazed.
“The bellhop sent me up,” she says, smiling awkwardly.
I frown. The bellhop? Wait … could she be a replacement? Sarah said she’d already contacted one of the agencies with a last-minute request, but I didn’t think they’d come up with a new girl this quickly. Especially not considering the amount of … discretion we require.
She stands near my bookshelf, still smiling, as if she’s waiting for me to do something. So I stroll to my desk and sit down on the still warm seat. My fingers glide along the laptop, which she clearly touched, judging by the single strand of brown hair resting on the keys.
“So … you’re the replacement girl, I suppose?” I muse.
“Replacement? Um, yes,” she says, making me narrow my eyes.
She seems rather unsure of her answer. Maybe she wasn’t briefed properly on her tasks. Or maybe the bellhop sent up the wrong girl. Only one way to find out.
“Okay then.” Biting my lip, I grab the form and scoot it toward the front of the desk along with a pen. “Read this and sign it, please.”
She approaches the desk, hesitantly sitting down. She picks up the pen and glares at the document, but she can’t help but throw glances at me every now and then. I wonder why. I don’t think I’ve ever had a girl in my office who was this nervous about the job. Then again, she did show up rather unexpectedly, and it’s thrown me off balance too. She looks rather familiar, but I can’t put my finger on exactly why that is.
All I know is that she’s hovering over first name without actually writing anything down.
“Is there a problem?”
Pausing, she looks up and parts her lips, but no words come out of her mouth. For a brief second, she sucks on the bottom of her lip, then continues filling out the rest of the form, skipping the name part.
I tap my fingers on the desk and mumble, “You know … you can enter a fake name if you’re unsure of things. For now.”
She looks up at me again with those questioning eyes that just push all my buttons. What is it about this girl that makes me want to adjust my collar? No idea, but I do it anyway.
It takes her ages to pen everything down. She’s taking her sweet ass time as if she’s stalling or something, and I don’t like it one bit. When everything is finally done, the only thing missing is her signature.
“Here,” I say, placing my finger on the lines.
“Before I sign …” she mutters. “Could you tell me what it is that you do?”
I frown and snort, but my amusement quickly dissipates when I see she’s serious. Has her agency not informed her? What is she doing here then?
“Don’t tell me you don’t know,” I say. “Why else would you come here?”
“Um …” She swallows, and her face is turning as red as a beet.
I snatch the paper and tuck it in my drawer before she does something she’ll regret. But her eyes … damn, those big eyes immediately tug at me, forcing me to explain.
“I can’t let you sign this if you aren’t a hundred percent sure about it.”
“Explain to me again what this job is about.”
I’m getting more and more suspicious of this girl. Something doesn’t add up.
“I don’t have time for explanations, sorry.” I clear my throat and get up from my chair, but so does she.
She places her hands on the desk and says, “I’m not here for you to just brush me off.”