Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
A billionaire.
A gorgeous, confident, mysterious freaking billionaire.
You’re going to have to keep up.
Asher’s voice swam through my sleep-addled mind, and I threw off my comforter, forcing myself out of bed. No way in hell was I going to prove his assumptions about me—that I was just a silly little romance author who had no real stamina or follow-through for being his shadow for a month.
He couldn’t be more wrong about me. I loved my job, lived for it with the same passion and tenacity in which he operated at his. Just because I didn’t wake up at four a.m. every day didn’t discredit my dedication, and he was going to learn that.
I hustled through getting ready, opting for a transitional outfit that would work in Asher’s business casual setting—a modest blue dress that stopped just above my knees and a cream cardigan. There was no taming my wild curls, so I let them hang free over my shoulders, and opted for a simple swipe of gloss on my lips and some mascara. I shrugged as I looked in the mirror, noting the purple circles under my eyes that I fully blamed on the book I’d been so caught up in reading last night that I hadn’t fallen asleep until after midnight.
Note to self: put the damn book down by eight while shadowing Asher freaking Silas.
I blared my moody mix playlist the entire thirty-minute drive to his house while also gulping down a massive to-go cup of coffee. By the time I drove through the gate to Asher’s house, I was marginally riding the caffeine high. The front door was open, so I stepped inside, my tablet in one hand and my half-drank coffee in the other.
The home was incredibly cozy for a space that had to have at least eight thousand square feet. Every room I passed had been outfitted with comfy furniture and warm paintings that made the place feel like a home rather than the cold mansion I expected.
I scribbled notes in my tablet while following the string of lights illuminated in the house and stopped once I reached the industrial sized kitchen. Jesus, it was a dream with marble countertops, a massive island in the middle, and a table and soft chairs tucked near a set of French doors that opened up to a wide landscaped area complete with rose bushes and angel oak trees.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” a male voice sounded from behind me, and I whirled around.
An elderly gentleman with salt and pepper hair hauled in paper grocery bags before unloading them on the kitchen island.
“I’m here to work with Asher Silas.”
“You’re Daisy, correct?” he asked, and I nodded. “Mr. Silas is expecting you. I’m his personal chef, James.” James looked down at his watch. “Mr. Silas is usually in the gym at this time. You can find it by taking the stairs down to the second lower level, then take a right. You won’t be able to miss it.”
I smiled at James and called a thank you over my shoulder as I took the path he instructed. The house seemed never ending, but I found the second lower level easily enough, and took a right—
And froze.
The space opened to a giant in-home personal gym with all manner of equipment, weights, and yoga mats. And right in the middle of the gym, shirtless with sweat glistening down the lines of muscles in his back, was Asher Silas.
He was doing pull-ups on a bar situated across the room, the muscles in his back flexing and shifting underneath tons of smooth skin. The black gym shorts he wore hung low on his hips as he kept doing his reps, showing off more of his impeccable body as he thrust his legs upward with each pull.
A warm shiver danced across my skin, the sensation rippling straight through the center of me. I quickly shook off the feeling, reminding myself that this was exactly the kind of thing I wrote about all the time.
“So, this is how you stay in shape,” I said, walking up beside him.
He paused at the top of the bar, arching a brow as he looked down at me. “How else would it happen?” he asked, then did a few more reps before dropping from the bar.
“That’s the exact question my editor always asks me,” I said, trying not to gawk at him when he turned to face me. Good God, the front of his body was as carved as the back, and drops of sweat trailed down the lines of his abs and then went lower—
Nope. Eyes up, Daisy.
“I don’t follow,” Asher said, reaching for a towel resting on a bench next to him. He grabbed it and wiped himself down, then shucked it in a bin near the wall, and snatched up a water bottle and chugged.