Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
My head drops back, and I click my neck as I look up at the ceiling, praying for some guidance. I called the MD of the Hunt Corporation a holier-than-thou twat. What have I done? It takes a few uncomfortable seconds for me to accept that nothing is getting me out of this horrific situation, especially with a job, unless I grovel. Apologise. I squirm at the mere thought.
I chew my lip as I look at him. He quirks a sexy eyebrow. And I just know he wants that apology.
Difficult? Mrs Potts called the boss difficult. I’m more inclined to use arrogant, though I detect there’s a playful edge to Becker Hunt. I’ve had first-hand experience of that playful edge. And the cockiness. I shrink on the inside, once again hearing my words as I shoved him away outside the cafe and called him a holier-than-thou twat.
But what was I supposed to do? I quickly sprint through my options before I dive in with an apology he doesn’t deserve. Do I really need this job? Yes, no thanks to him for nicking my cab yesterday, and more than I need to remove these stilettos from my achy feet. Do I want this job more than I want to slap his arrogant face? I purse my lips. That’s debatable. Can I keep my mouth shut during my working day? Be professional? Yes . . . if I get the job. I have more self-control than I’m giving myself credit for. And speaking of self-control, will my damn body ever stop trembling when he’s close? Can I repel him? Get on with my job? I’m not sure. But the main question, the question that overrides all that have come before, is whether I’m going to be given the opportunity to try.
Damn it. I hate to admit it, but I’m at the mercy of this god-like man. I don’t like it, not one little bit, but I’m not about to cut off my nose to spite my face. I want this job. I need this job. My rent is due soon, and there’s no other job like this out there. Plus, this is a foot in the door of a world I’ve dreamed about being in for ever, and after being immersed in the wonder of it all, I’m desperate for more. This is the Hunt Corporation, for Christ’s sake. This is an insanely rare opportunity. I’m not going to let Becker Hunt ruin my hopefully flourishing career. And I fit here. Mrs Potts thinks it, and I think it too. For the first time ever, I feel like I truly belong.
It’s time to grovel. It’s time to prove that I’m the girl he needs. Professionally, of course.
I take a deep breath. ‘I apologise,’ I whisper, so quietly I barely hear it myself, yet the slight cock of an eyebrow tells me he heard it perfectly.
He gets up and saunters around the desk, taking a seat in the chair next to me. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’
I suddenly have an overwhelming urge to punch him in his smug, beautiful face. He’s going to milk my apology for what it’s worth. Bring it on, Hunt. ‘I apologise,’ I say louder, and smile, trying to eliminate the sarcastic expression from my face.
He leans forwards, invading my personal space. ‘Come again,’ he whispers. It’s all I can do not to throttle him. Or kiss the lips he’s flaunting like a juicy bone to a ravenous dog.
My eyes close, and I breathe in deeply. I shouldn’t have. My nose has just been reminded of his delightful manly scent. ‘I’m sorry for calling you a holier-than-thou twat, Mr Hunt,’ I say, loud and clear, telling myself not to flip out if he asks me to repeat myself again. This is the Hunt Corporation, I remind myself. The elite of the elite.
‘No need to apologise.’
My lids flutter open, and I find him standing over me. Then his palms meet the arms of my chair and he dips, leaning down and caging me in. I freeze and hold my breath as his face comes closer and closer until his mouth is at my ear. I’ve never felt so vulnerable in my life. Or lustful. Or annoyed.
‘I really am a holier-than-thou twat,’ he murmurs in my ear.
My breath catches in my throat and he moves away from me, leaving me a pile of want in the leather chair.
‘I didn’t particularly want to hire anyone, but Mrs Potts needs help. You’ll do.’ He nods – all formal – turns, and starts to leave.
I’ll do? I bolt up in my chair. ‘You’re offering me the job?’
He slows to a stop and turns around, looking at me quietly for a few moments. His mouth drops open to speak, but then closes again when he seems to think carefully about something. He appears uncharacteristically uncertain, his lovely eyes dancing across my face, a frown in place. I tilt my head, a little in interest, a little in impatience. ‘Do you want it?’ he asks.