Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
OH.
She didn't say it out loud, but the way her mouth parted said as much, along with how she kept blinking as if she could not believe he was real.
Valerian glared at Heather. WHAT. THE. HELL.
Trust me, Heather simply mouthed back.
His chopper had already taken off before Valerian could tell Heather to get rid of the new girl, and the billionaire was thus left with two choices. He could fire her himself or—-
"Mr. Rossfield?"
Valerian reluctantly turned towards her, but his mood swiftly turned to disconcert when he saw that the girl had already laid her tools out on the table, and she was now holding out a barber cape towards him.
The faint color staining her cheeks told Valerian that she was still self-conscious around him, but as soon as he nodded in response, her expression turned serious, and it was as if someone had turned on a switch inside of her.
The girl's movements were precise and efficient as she got to work, and he appreciated the meticulous care she exercised in order to avoid coming into contact with any part of his person.
Aside from asking how he preferred to have his hair trimmed, she didn't say anything else, and by the time they landed on Austin, Valerian had no choice but to bear the smugness in Heather's tone when she called him again.
"I told you so. She's perfect, isn't she?"
Chapter Three
SEE THE DIFFERENCE in two weeks!
Poppy remembered reading such a claim from a shampoo's packaging ad, and the words now seemed just as apt, with how much her life had changed in the same amount of time.
Fourteen days ago, Valerian Rossfield was merely one of the billions of strangers who happened to live on the same planet she did. But in just two weeks, he had become her most terrible secret, with the way he lingered in her thoughts every waking moment.
In those fourteen days, she had spent a shameful amount of time digging up everything she could find online about him. She had learned that the self-made billionaire was French on his mother's side while his father was supposedly the disinherited black sheep of some old-rich ranching clan in San Antonio. She had also learned that his girlfriend Camelia was a former beauty queen who had used her prize money to put up her own company, which now generated millions in annual revenues.
That the couple was a match made in heaven would be the understatement of the century. So why must her stupid imagination insist on tormenting her with horribly forbidden dreams every time she would fall asleep?
Poppy had done everything possible to protect both her slumber and conscience. She had jogged every evening until her legs gave out. Read every book there was about the history of science (boring!) until her eyelids drooped.
But none of it had worked, and as soon as her head hit the pillow, make-believe Valerian would invade the private corners of her mind like a frighteningly irresistible boogeyman whose only goal was to make her heart melt.
'Did you miss me,' the billionaire would ask in these mortifyingly mushy dreams of hers, but make-believe Poppy would always refuse to answer this for some reason.
She would reach instead for the mesmerizing curls that he had her trimming in real life, and she would then plead for him to let it grow longer.
Please, Valerian? For me?
In these illicit dreams, the billionaire would initially refuse, telling her that it was too much distraction for someone with obsessive-compulsive tendencies like him.
But when her eyes would start to well with tears, make-believe Valerian would then sigh before saying—-
As you wish, my love.
That her dreams were always more sugary-sweet than smutty was something Poppy still didn't know what to think of. All she knew for sure was that they were dangerous.
She had already asked Joy earlier if it was possible for someone else to take her place, but the salon owner had only laughed like Poppy had cracked the funniest joke.
"Ms. Cortez?"
Poppy shook herself out of her thoughts as the receptionist handed her a temporary pass.
"Please take the elevator to your left. It goes straight up to the penthouse."
Poppy managed to thank the other woman with a smile even as she had already begun mentally preparing herself like she was about to enter the war.
Just remember what Heather said! Remember! Remember!
Poppy squared her shoulders as the elevator doors opened.
Valerian Rossfield is taken!
The billionaire's office was at the end of the hallway, and Poppy marched towards it like she was heading to her execution.
Taken! Taken! Taken!
But when the door to the billionaire's office suddenly swung open ahead of her, and she saw that it was Valerian himself holding the door open, Poppy's heart immediately skipped a beat, and she promptly forgot every sensible thought in her head.
Taken? What 'Taken'? What did Liam Neeson's movie have to do with her job again?