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)
I mean—who doesn’t love vintage Whitney? This shirt is a classic.
Setting my dinner to the side, I lean back on my couch, position my legs to make them look as sexy as possible, and point my toes in the air, giving them a wiggle even though he’s not getting a video. Blue, sparkly polish. Cute dainty toes.
I’m adorable. And braless.
Who could resist this?
I snap a few pictures, pick the sexiest before hitting send, a secretive smile tugging at my lips the entire time.
HandsRomingMyBody: There is your “proof.”
He takes a second to answer, but when he does, pure female satisfaction courses through me.
RomeBlackburn: Fuck. Don’t send me any more pictures.
HandsRomingMyBody: Are you going to make that your wallpaper now?
RomeBlackburn: Maybe.
HandsRomingMyBody: It’s the legs, isn’t it?
I have really great legs; they’re my favorite body part.
RomeBlackburn: It’s the legs. And the toes. And the legs. God, it’s making me hungry . . .
HandsRomingMyBody: I’m nibbling on the best quiche; should really try it. It’s from this little shop around the corner from where I live—Edith’s Treats. You’d never know how fantastic everything was until you step foot inside. It’s so freaking good.
RomeBlackburn: I know where that place is. What’s in this magical quiche you’re panting over?
HandsRomingMyBody: Spinach, roasted peppers, and broccoli. **Kisses fingers** magnifique.
RomeBlackburn: I have a package of Saltine crackers in my desk. That’s my dinner, so I guess your quiche is better than what I’m having.
HandsRomingMyBody: Saltine crackers? Those are for sick people. Are you sick? Why the hell aren’t you getting some food delivered like a normal person?
RomeBlackburn: No time to call in anything.
HandsRomingMyBody: But you have apps. And time to talk to me? But you didn’t get food . . .
As he’s typing, I quickly pull up a blank text message and text my friend Tony, who works at the pizza place across from the office. They deliver to the office for me all the time and have access to the building. I order up a pepperoni calzone, have it sent to Rome’s office ASAP, and charge it to me. The delivery guy responds back with a simple text: Give it fifteen minutes.
I love those guys.
I love any guy that feeds me.
RomeBlackburn: Priorities. I’m trying to figure out who you are; that takes precedence over my stomach.
HandsRomingMyBody: Okay, wanna play a game? You ask me anything and I’ll answer honestly?
RomeBlackburn: Sure, we can do that: What do you like most about working for Roam, Inc.?
HandsRomingMyBody: That is NOT the kind of question I was going for, but okay—I’ll answer. Despite the tyrant of a boss I work for (ha ha) I really like the image the company portrays, supporting the active lifestyle, and honestly . . . the free stuff too.
RomeBlackburn: Your favorite part of working here is the FREE stuff? Not the hot guy who sits on the top floor and signs your paycheck?
HandsRomingMyBody: Maybe. We’ll call “him” an added bonus. Can I ask you something?
RomeBlackburn: Fire away.
HandsRomingMyBody: Ever flirt with an employee before?
RomeBlackburn: I don’t shit where I eat—it’s not my style and it shouldn’t be anyone else’s either. So, no. I haven’t ever flirted with an employee before.
HandsRomingMyBody: Yet here you are, talking to me.
RomeBlackburn: Because apparently I’ve lost my fucking mind. How do you take your coffee?
HandsRomingMyBody: At work? With loads of that Irish creamer, because the coffee at work is disgusting—no offense. When I’m not at work, I prefer lattes. I float back and forth to what I order that day.
RomeBlackburn: So it isn’t just me? I’m going to have Lauren switch up the coffee, because drinking that basically amounts to “roasted grounds and a heavy dose of shit” and that’s not on the top of my list.
HandsRomingMyBody: Roasted shit? As in . . . poo? Yeah, I won’t be able to get that out of my head for the rest of the night.
RomeBlackburn: Hold up. Why is there a guy in my office holding a bag of food? Did you just have food delivered? Are you FEEDING me?
HandsRomingMyBody: Can’t have Sexy McBossyPants going hungry. **wink** Enjoy, the calzones are among my faves and TO DIE FOR.
RomeBlackburn: Taking care of me. I’m actually in shock. And thankful. And to be honest? A little stunned . . .
Chapter Fourteen
ROME
Where the hell is everyone?
One glance out my office window and I see no one.
I don’t have time to lift my ass out of this seat to know there isn’t any noise coming from the common area outside my door where most of the cubicles on this floor are. The place is a dead-zone and I have no goddamn idea why.
And instead of caring enough to find out, I find myself rooted in my chair, staring at my computer.
Last night, I learned a little detail, a little nugget of information that could help me figure out who LSY is.