Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Go on.”
“Three fonts, but here, I’m counting five.” Now she taps the pen on the tabletop, giving it a few raps. “It’s also very wordy.”
“Wordy?”
“You’re going to lose people with all this text. Keep it simple. Eight words or less for a header.”
My nostrils flare. “Anything else?”
I pay my marketing people good money for this shit—why wasn’t Peyton included on the team for the new campaign when it’s clear here she has a grasp on what we needed? Better yet, why wasn’t she running it?
“Yes. I’m done.”
“Are you though?” My sarcasm is palpable.
“I mean . . .” Her voice trails off. “You said you wanted this to be a quick meeting and I’m Social Media acquisition.”
Peyton shrugs.
My body tenses. Fists clenching at my side, I slide my tongue over my teeth, feeling how tight the pressure in my jaw is.
This meeting was a mistake. I’m getting nothing out of this, especially with Peyton running her mouth like this, trying to be helpful in a very public way.
Before the next marketing team member has an opinion, I stalk to the door, fling it open. “You’re free to go. Miss Lévêque, a moment please.”
Shuffling quietly and at a rapid pace, the women file out, happy to leave the tension-filled room. Eyes trained on Peyton, I watch a few women pat her on the shoulder before leaving. One elbows her in the rib cage.
Must be her friends.
She’s going to need the encouragement when I’m done with her.
Once the last of them have exited, I slide the door closed, the frost of the glass blocking us from the peering, prying eyes of the office.
I take a seat in one of the chairs and cross my ankle over my knee, striking a casual pose, pinning Peyton with my don’t fuck with me look.
We sit in silence, her fidgeting with her hair, me still as a goddamn statue. I can sit here all fucking day, intimidating her with my fixed stare. Unwavering and dead fucking serious, that’s me.
No one talks to me like that in my boardroom, let alone in front of other employees.
She’s treading on thin ice, even if she was right about the ad campaign.
“What was that?”
“You asked for my thoughts on the ad. And I gave it.”
“That was before I knew you were going to rip the whole thing a new asshole.”
“Did you want me to lie? I can do that, too.” She clears her throat, flattens her lips into a thin line, and smiles. “The ad is wonderful as is. Don’t change a thing.”
I’m not amused.
“See? I can lie.”
“Scale of one to ten, how bad is the ad copy?”
“Seven point five.”
Shit.
I spent forty thousand dollars on that mock-up no one is wild about.
“Was there anything else you needed, sir?”
My head rears at the word Sir; she used it on purpose.
“There’s nothing more I need.” At least, not right now. “You’re free to go.”
Yes, I know I’m being a stubborn jackass right now; Peyton has a good eye, and it sounds like she has fantastic idea. But I cannot bring myself to seek her advice, because all I want to do right now is stick my tongue down her throat.
Fuck. Me.
Chapter Nine
PEYTON
“What did lover boy want?”
My head whips around, glancing every which way as Genevieve’s voice carries, embarrassingly loud. “Would you keep your voice down?”
“Sorry. We’ve been dying. Does he finally want to bang you?”
I wish. “No, Gen. He wanted to talk about the new ad campaign. You know—’cause we’re at work?”
“Oh.” I swear, her shoulders sag. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” My eyes roll. “You don’t have to look so damn put out about it.”
“Yes, I do. I have a lot riding on this.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Just a small, personal bet with Kim and Viv.”
I hold a palm up to shush her. “Please. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
Genevieve laughs. “So what else did he say?”
“Not a whole lot.” I shrug it off, trying to act as cool as possible, not like I just got ripped a new one by the man I’m crushing on. “It was no big deal.”
And yet, it was. It was a huge deal, because while he was giving me a classic Rome Blackburn tongue-lashing, I couldn’t stop myself from ogling him.
Sleeves rolled up, showing off his ripped forearms, the black of his shirt highlighting the pale silver of his eyes. The scruff on his jaw, sinister and sexy. The pinch in his brow and sharp line of his eyebrows, intimidating and hot as hell.
And the way his deep voice rolled over me, igniting a wave of butterflies in my stomach.
I was so desperate to tell him the email was from me, that I want nothing more than to accompany him back to his office. But instead, my face turned bright red, I shivered in my seat, and when he excused me, I tucked my tail between my legs and scampered away.