Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
His eyes sweep my attire prior to him snipping. “You should change first.”
“No.”
“If it is an audience with Mr. Whittington you are requesting, I’m advising you to change into something…more appropriate for his company.”
“And I am advising you to take me to him before I call the cops for kidnapping.”
Kidnapping is a hard sell, Zel…
“Your funeral” flashes in the butler’s gaze prior to him clearing his throat. “Very well, Miss Pierson. Follow me.”
Feeling victorious, I keep my head and confidence held high. I’m led downstairs, past the elevator where I entered Elias’s apartment and past the kitchen, where we dined alone last night ,to the opposite side of the home.
Dietrich doesn’t stop until we’ve reached the end of the hall, which is when he glowers once more at my choice of clothing and motions his hand towards the door.
I give him a smirk that tells him he doesn’t scare me, yet it instantly fades the second he can no longer see my face.
No.
Uptight butler doesn’t scare me.
What lies on the other side of the door does.
Two taps are given on a held breath.
Relax, Zel. You got this.
“You may enter.”
I may enter?
May?
Seriously?
How could I even consider living somewhere that I have to be “allowed” to enter certain rooms?
My heart lurches into my throat as I step into a room that undeniably smells like wealth and power. Hints of cologne linger throughout the room alongside that of leather, a scent which could be coming from his chairs, his couch, or even the books on display to my left.
Elias, who is sitting behind a long glass desk, doesn’t bother looking up from the organized stacks of documents he seems to be reviewing. “Speak.”
I wait until I’m directly on the other side of his desk to do so. “Good morning, Mr. Whittington.”
“Returned to formalities, have we?”
“It’s polite to say good morning back.”
His blue eyes suddenly cut up to me, intrigue and irritation in them alike.
“Could you um…” the crystal slices me into what feels like a million pieces, “could you at least try to treat me like a person when I have my clothes on?”
An unexpected hum is followed by him abandoning the hold on the pen in his hand, leaning back in his leather chair, and smoothing down the red tie that looks incredible around his neck. “Good morning, Zel.”
I almost whimper out loud from how amazing it feels to hear him say my actual name.
“You are currently unfit by my standards to have the time you are requesting from me,” he callously informs. “These are my office hours. They are not to be treated lightly or with such disrespect. If you wish to have rights to them in the future, you are to be dressed for the occasion. This is my office. Not the gym. You will not be allowed to treat it as such.”
My jaw bobs in desperation to say something.
“However, you have already been granted access inside, so, please proceed with why you’re here. Time is money, and money as you can see, Zel, money is something I pride myself in having.”
I square my shoulders, determined to grasp at my own businesswoman stance, and begin, “Mr. Whittington, I had a very…unexpectedly pleasant night with you.”
Lie.
That shit was amazing.
Easily one of the best orgasms of my entire life.
Hell, probably the best night of my entire life, period.
His expression remains emotionless.
“But-”
“No.”
“No…what?”
“To whatever remains of this conversation.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it is a waste of your breath and my very valuable time.”
“You’re a businessman, Mr. Whittington…”
“I am.” Amusement dances in his dark gaze. “Which is why I know how to spot a deal I’m going to decline from a mile away.”
The intimidation attempt damn near works, but I somehow manage to push down the lump in my throat and continue, “I would like to end the contract I have and instead be the one to pay whatever it is my father owes you.”
His stoic face doesn’t flinch.
“I obviously can’t give it back to you all at once, but I can and am willing to make payments.”
Elias’ lack of response feels like a tourniquet, yet instead of stopping my bleeding, it squeezes my gut to a bloody pulp, determined to sever whatever could’ve possibly been saved.
“How about this?” I rush out more words since I haven’t been muzzled yet. “We shred the old contract and create a new one? We draw up a payment plan where I pay towards his debt maybe a hundred and twenty or . . . a hundred and fifty a month.” Nodding more to myself than him, I begin to do the mental math. “Yeah, I can swing that. Probably. Just have to pick up a few more shifts. Make those leftovers stretch a few extra days…Maybe…share a couple textbooks with someone instead of buying used ones…” A small shake of the head is given prior to me confidently claiming, “You get your money back, which is what you want, and I get my freedom without having to involve the authorities. Now, how many months at the rate I mentioned do you think it’ll take?”