Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“I got it,” he says, and we both straighten up, laughing.
“Thanks.” I grab the tray to avoid locking gazes and having a moment with this guy. Guilt floods through me.
Hopefully, he won’t get into any trouble over losing his key.
More importantly, I hope he never realizes I’m the one who took it.
I hustle off to the women’s restroom and clean my brush, roller, and tray. When I return, Jack has folded my drop cloth into a neat pile and put away the step stool I borrowed from the closet.
He turns to look at me and draws a breath.
Shit.
He’s going to ask me out.
I stoop to pick up the polyurethane can and set it on top of the paint tray.
He’s hot, but I’m not interested. More importantly, I can’t get involved with him now that I stole his keycard. It would put him in danger of losing his job–or worse.
I’m saved by his security radio going off. “Jack?”
He pulls out the walkie talkie and hits a button. “Go ahead.”
“Is that artist still up there?”
He and I look at each other in surprise. He holds my gaze as he speaks into the mouthpiece. “Yeah, I’m with her now. What’s up?”
“There’s a guy down here who says he’s her ride.”
My ride.
Billy?
What the fuck? I snicker internally at the idea of Billionaire Billy acting as my taxi.
At least his arrival made for a perfect interruption. I smile brightly. “That’s my…boyfriend.” That will stop him.
The light and hope drain from his expression. “Oh, okay.”
“You don’t have to walk me down if you don’t want.”
“Nah, I will. Let me carry this stuff for you.” He takes the paint tray from my hands and puts the drop cloth over the top.
A true gentleman. Even when he’s been dissed.
The elevator ride is thankfully short, and I step out, taking my things from his hands.
Billy stands in front of the reception desk in the darkened foyer, his brows down, and a scowl on his mouth. As if I’d asked for a ride and was late or something.
The guy is an arrogant asshole.
“Thanks, Jack.” I turn to walk backward as he steps out of the elevator, eyeing Billy.
Another rush of guilt runs over me, and I take two quick steps back and give him a hug. “You’re a cool guy,” I tell him.
He looks a little dazed but smiles.
I swear to God I hear Billy growl. Like, a literal animal growl.
“Bye, guys!” I call out, waving to both Jack and the other security guard as I bop on past Billy, ignoring him completely.
I hear another growl just behind me.
I don’t stop or turn around, I just walk straight down the sidewalk. I should just keep ignoring him and walk myself to the subway.
Would he stop me?
Why is he even here? I said, no, thanks.
But it would be too rude to just walk away. My conscience won’t let me. I stop and whirl, surprised to find Billy right behind me. He snatches the paint things from my hands, his scowl firmly on lock.
“Why are you here?” I demand.
He tips his head to the side. “Get in the car.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I don’t want you walking alone at night.”
I don’t want to like that statement. I hate that warmth crawls from the soles of my feet right up to my chest.
Dang.
It sounds like something my dad would say to my mom. Sweet. Unnecessary, but sweet.
But that can’t be right.
Billy White is anything but sweet.
Now he’s the one ignoring me, carrying my paint supplies to his car. He’s illegally parked right in front of the building. This guy thinks laws don’t apply to him.
But I guess there’s no parking ticket he couldn’t afford.
It’s hard to imagine having the kind of wealth he has. The kind Madi will soon have. You could do so much good with that kind of money. Install green spaces around the city. Fund programs for the homeless. Back a political candidate who cares about their constituents.
Well, I will soon have a hundred grand to put to good use.
I’ve never even considered having that kind of money. I’ll be able to pay off my student loans at City College. I could pre-pay my rent for the year and cut back on my hours at La Résistance, not that I don’t love working there. After this one job for Billy, I can focus on my art. Or on studying for the LSAT, which was my original educational plan.
It’s still a good one, but I don’t find myself excited about the idea anymore. Making art is more fulfilling. Although creating change as a lawyer would probably also be fulfilling, just in a different way.
Billy throws the door to the passenger side open, somehow holding the paint tray with the half-full can of polyurethane in one hand. The guy must have bionic wrists.
I reach it, expecting him to move out of the way, but he stands there like a chauffeur. Is he actually going to hand me into the car?