Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 20030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 100(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
I totally forgot there's more to the equation, and so I immediately let go and sit on my hands like a chastened child. "I'm so sorry, please go on."
"Don't do that again," my friend grouches.
"Cross my heart," I solemnly swear. "Now, will you please tell me what's next?"
"Fifteen percent," my friend says grumpily, "is all about having a shared or common interest, passion, or goal."
Only one name pops into my mind the moment I realize what she's talking about.
Samuel.
We definitely have that darling boy in common, and my heart suddenly feels like it's about to burst with hope. Having Samuel as our mutual goal means my chances of making Wynd fall in love with me are now at, what, sixty-five percent?
"The last ten percent," Jilly relays, "is being there or doing something at the right time and place."
"That's so vague," I say helplessly.
"Think of it as destiny or luck."
Oh.
When she puts it that way, then in my book...doesn't that mean the last ten percent is about whether you have divine approval or not?
I reach for a celery stick from my sad desk salad and start munching on it while my brain chews over this newest food for thought. Fresh Fridays are that one day of the week I stick to a healthy diet, and I feel rather proud of myself for still choosing vegetables over the mac and cheese that was calling my name.
Jilly nudges my foot under the table. "Look..."
I glance over my shoulder and belatedly notice the way a crowd seems to have gathered around the cafeteria doors.
"Maybe we've gotten another billionaire client," I say with a shrug.
"I wonder who it is..."
I grab another piece of celery to munch on as my mind goes back to the last 10% I need to figure out about Wynd and me. How would I know if—
"May I have a moment of your time, Ms. Moreno?"
—the billionaire in my mind has suddenly materialized right next to our table?
What in the world?
All I can do is stare, celery stick suspended halfway to my mouth, while my gorgeous billionaire of ice looms over me like some avenging angel in a custom-tailored suit.
Chapter Ten
THE BOARDROOM AT Luntian was exactly what Wynd expected from a mid-tier company trying to project success on a limited budget. Medium-sized space, leather furniture that was well-maintained but showed signs of age, and floor-to-ceiling windows covered by cream-colored blinds.
His gaze swept over the room, taking inventory of every detail. Security cameras mounted in the corners, a projector system for presentations, and a small sidebar with coffee service and water glasses.
It wasn't the most luxurious boardroom, but it would do for what he had in mind.
And as for Star...
She remained standing by the entrance, her coral blouse a bright splash of color against the neutral tones of the room. Her face was pale and her posture stiff; she looked as if she was ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.
He could feel her gaze following his every move, and he sensed her mood turning curious when he walked past the chair at the head of the table—the power position she obviously expected him to claim—and instead selected a pair of seats opposite the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Wynd pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down, Ms. Moreno."
She did as asked, and he sensed her jerking in her seat in surprise when he sat beside her rather than across from her.
Good.
"Do you know why I came here?" Wynd drawled.
She shook her head, those expressive brown eyes wide and uncertain.
"I left you a note."
"I...I saw it."
"And?"
She swallowed hard and started wringing her hands in her lap like a schoolgirl called to the principal's office. "I...I didn't realize—"
"That I was waiting for your call?"
"I honestly didn't think you were. It just felt so impersonal—"
"I would never care to ask for something that didn't matter to me."
"I'm sorry—"
"No, Star," he cut her off gently, his voice softer than his expression. "I'm the one who's sorry."
Her eyes widened in surprise.
"Because what you've done means I'll have to punish you."
"O-Oh."
That she actually said this out loud—breathless and wondering rather than frightened—almost made him smile.
Almost.
"Are you scared?" he asked, studying the way her breathing had already changed.
She nodded so quickly in answer that he was finding it more difficult to keep his face expressionless.
"But it's not only that, is it?"
A blush stole over her cheeks as his gaze slowly traveled over her body.
"You're already wet, aren't you?"
"W-Wynd!"
He clucked his tongue. "When I ask a question, I expect an answer. Are we clear on this?"
She slowly nodded, a deep flush now staining her cheeks.
"Are you wet for me?"
Star looked at him in dismay, her lips parting as if she wanted to protest again. But when his expression remained unyielding, patient and implacable, she eventually choked out, "Y-Yes."
"And what do you think I should do about it?"