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)
We scoot out of the tight corner and make our way out of the coffee house where we both pause to say goodbye.
Like the professional she’s trying to portray, she holds out her hand to me. “Thank you for letting me present to you today, Mr. Blackburn.”
Her formality makes me smile. At least she hasn’t sir’d me tonight.
I take her hand in mine, the feeling of her palm soft and slender, the perfect fit against my large hand. “Thank you for taking the time to come up with these ideas. I’ll get back to you soon.”
She nods and swallows hard. I can see she wants to say something else, but she holds back, tamping down that wild tongue. That’s my girl. Shit. No. Not my girl. Professional.
Instead, she puts a few feet of distance between us. “I look forward to hearing from you, Mr. Blackburn.”
Taking a step forward, cutting down the distance, I pinch her chin between my fingers and force her to look at me head-on. “Call me, Rome. I like the way it sounds coming from your mouth.” More than I should.
With one last look in her eyes, I spin on my heel and make my way toward my brownstone. I’m turned on and fucking horny as hell. I have some business to take care of, and it doesn’t have to deal with Roam, Inc.
Chapter Nineteen
PEYTON
I can’t breathe.
Even three hours later, tucked under my sheets, the meeting long over with, I still can’t breathe.
Why weren’t they sitting next to each other? Why did I have to sit next to Rome?
When I walked into the coffee house and saw the open chair next to Rome, I knew I was going to have one hell of a time getting through my presentations being that close to him.
And I was right.
I could feel his gaze blazing up and down my body, those steady, sure eyes focused in on the way my chest rose and fell with every strangled breath I took. I could feel his body language angled in my direction, and when he took the pictures from me, the light graze of his fingers across mine, innocent and yet so sinful, I felt it to my bones.
Professionalism? What’s that? I can barely remember if I gave a good presentation or not, because I was so wired over being that damn close to Rome that I couldn’t concentrate. I fumbled over my words, I dropped papers on the floor, and every time Hunter chuckled, I became more and more frantic.
It’s probably why Rome didn’t jump at my ideas. I was a hot mess. So. Professional. Not.
Sighing, I throw my head back on my pillow. God, I stayed up late every night for the past three nights practicing my pitch, making sure everything was perfect, and then I go and screw it up because Rome’s cologne frazzled my mind.
He has to think about it.
I don’t blame him. If I sat through my presentation, I’m pretty sure I would be just as contemplative as he was.
And here I thought the job was in the bag.
I bite my bottom lip as tears start to prickle at the corner of my eyes. This is stupid. I shouldn’t be crying. I gave him one hell of a presentation, yes, I might have been nervous, but my ideas were solid and that’s all that should matter.
Feeling a little more confident, I pick up my phone from my nightstand and open my email, hoping to see an email from Rome telling me how amazing I am.
But when there are ZERO new messages in my inbox, I once again become self-conscious.
Well that confidence was short-lived.
If I wasn’t so set in stone on staying in my bed and never getting out of it again due to a vast amount of humiliation I had to endure today, I would walk over to my freezer and pull out a pint of ice cream.
Maybe there is something good on TV to take my mind off things. But the remote . . . it’s so far away, on the other side of my bed.
Succumbing to my laziness, I pick up my phone again just as I receive a text.
From Rome.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach, sending my body into a nervous frenzy. Sitting up and positioning myself against the headboard of my bed, I read his text.
Rome: Question about your presentation tonight.
Oh God, okay, be on point. Quick with your response but smart.
Peyton: Hopefully I have an answer for you.
I wait as the little dots dance right away.
Rome: Were you nervous?
That’s the question he wanted to ask about my presentation tonight?
Leave it to Rome to call me out on my nerves. He could never let anything go. He observes, assesses, and then lets it be known what he sees, never sugarcoating. It’s one of the reasons I respect him so much as a CEO but also one of the reasons why I want to smack that handsome face of his, especially when his assessment is pointed in my direction.