Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 105850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“Whirlwinds get things done,” I called, walking out. “You have five minutes.”
***
I collapsed over the arm of my sofa with a giant flump and stared up at the ceiling.
It was done.
The contract Alastair had given me was all good, and it would be ready to sign first thing in the morning when I arrived at the office. I knew it would be—I trusted that they wouldn’t screw me over, but I’d still wanted to get it checked.
Which meant this was really happening.
I would be roommates with my boss for six weeks. More than that, I would be cooking dinner for my boss for six weeks.
I’d lost my mind. I’d been nothing but a big ol’ ball of regret ever since we’d had lunch. I could scarcely believe we’d had that conversation about one-night stands.
He’d actually teased me.
And not in a mean way.
Theodore Black had playfully teased me, and I’d blushed the whole time.
In my defense, I thought anyone would blush if a man as handsome as him started teasing them about sex and one-night stands. I’d only put that in the list because the twins had brought it up the other night. It really wasn’t something I was considering, and if my boss did partake in such ‘frivolities,’ as he put it, then it was none of my business.
I just didn’t want to hear other people having sex.
I’d had enough of that during my university years.
I also didn’t want to hear my boss having sex. Not because he was my boss, but because contrary to the opinion of my best friends, I was a sexually active young woman, and if I heard Theodore Black having sex, I was absolutely going to imagine him having sex.
For the rest of my life, probably.
My phone buzzed in my bag, and I kicked off my heels while reaching aimlessly around on the ground for my bag. My fingertips made contact with the handle, and I briefly sat up to find my phone out of the abyss before lying back down again and checking my messages.
I froze.
What did The Bastard want now?
THE BASTARD: How did your appointment go with the lawyer?
Hmm.
It was a first for him to text me out of the blue without demanding something. Especially when it wasn’t about work—although this kind of was. I wanted to joke that it went badly, but I wasn’t sure we were quite there.
ME: It went well. There are no problems signing it tomorrow.
THE BASTARD: Good to know. In that case, I met with my father before I left the office and we’re leaving next Saturday.
I pursed my lips. Saturday? A cross-country trip? He was welcome to, but I certainly wasn’t going to embark on a five-and-a-half-hour drive on a weekend.
ME: What kind of a sadist makes a 5.5hr drive by choice on a weekend?
Whoops. I’d meant to suggest it was a bad idea, but my fingers moved faster than my brain.
THE BASTARD: That’s a good point. Should we leave on Friday instead?
ME: That depends on your schedule, sir.
THE BASTARD: You usually know it.
ME: Please forgive me for not having the next ten days perfectly memorised.
THE BASTARD: Since you asked nicely, you’re forgiven.
THE BASTARD: Are you checking?
ME: No. I’m lying on my sofa contemplating the meaning of life, if you must know.
THE BASTARD: I thought you would be looking.
THE BASTARD: What is there to contemplate so intently?
ME: I’m out of office. This is part of your training for when we’re roommates. If you want to know something past seven p.m., you’ll have to look it up yourself.
THE BASTARD: Are you contemplating how to train me to do my own job?
ME: I’m also contemplating how sorry to feel for your next secretary, sir.
THE BASTARD: It breaks my heart every time you remind me that you’re leaving me.
ME: If you’d just accepted my resignation the first time I’d offered it, you’d already be on the road to recovery, sir.
THE BASTARD: You make me sound like a horrible, unreasonable boss.
ME: Not accepting someone’s resignation for an entire month is pretty unreasonable. Sir.
THE BASTARD: Stop tacking ‘sir’ on the end of your sentences as if it makes them sound nicer.
I snorted and covered my mouth with my hand, almost dropping my phone in the process.
So, he did know I did that.
ME: I don’t know what you mean. I’m only being polite.
THE BASTARD: Mm. If you say so.
THE BASTARD: I checked my schedule and I have a nine o’clock meeting, but it’s one I’d rather have as an email. Cancel it tomorrow and we’ll leave Friday morning and beat the weekend traffic.
ME: I’ll do it first thing. Let me know if there’s anything else you need me to arrange. Sooner rather than later please, sir.
THE BASTARD: Are you saying I’m too last-minute?
ME: It’s a polite reminder that I, too, am coming on this long trip and need to make sure I pack enough of my own belongings.