Uncovered by Emily Snow Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Emily Snow
address?”
“So, is it?” he teased. “Jealousy, I
mean. A simple yes or no will work.”
I’d been in Oliver’s presence only once
in my adult life, and I could already say that, without a doubt, there was no
such thing as simple when it came to that man. Squeezing my eyes shut, I gave
him a few more seconds to respond before I repeated, “How did you get my
address, Oliver?”
When he addressed me, his voice had
lowered to a seductive whisper. “We’ve already gone over this, Lizzie. I’m not
fucking Dora. She’s not my only connection.”
“Then who is?”
“I didn’t intend to piss you off.”
Frowning, I rested my elbows on my desk.
His words would be so much more believable if I wasn’t one hundred percent
certain he was grinning at the moment.
“Avoiding my question isn’t exactly
helping that.” I massaged tiny circles into my right temple. “You’re not going
to tell me, are you?” When he responded with another chuckle, I questioned,
“And what will happen if I go down to Dora’s office and ask her if she gave you
my address?”
“Then I’d likely receive a very angry
call from her. She’d ask me the same questions you’re asking, she’d threaten to
tell my mother to which I’d tell her to go—”
“Since you’re obviously not going to
enlighten me,” I enunciated each syllable for emphasis, “should I return the
gift card to the address on the Manning Hotel Group envelope or do you want me
to leave it at the security desk here?”
He was speechless for a few seconds, and
then he said in the most serious tone I’d heard him use yet, “I’m not taking it back, Lizzie.”
“You will if I refuse to accept it.”
“You’re refusing a thousand-dollar gift
card?”
I nearly dropped the receiver. “A
thousand—” I took a deep breath. God, was he that far out of touch with reality?
“Why the hell would you send me that much? It’s an iPhone, not a—”
“I know what it is, and I looked up the
price. Since I didn’t know the model, I added some padding. You’re not going to
return it to me.”
Padding my ass. “I don’t want it.”
“Then give it to someone else. Because if
you do return it to me, I’ll personally show up with it next time.”
“You wouldn’t make it past the doorman,”
I said, which was a lie because though the presence of a doorman was one of the
aspects that had helped me decide on my Marina del Rey apartment, I’d yet to
see one on duty. Still, Oliver didn’t know that. I moved the checkerboard
paperweight off his letter. Fuming, I jerked the first desk drawer open and
swept it all—envelope and gift card included—inside. “Did you treat your mom’s
last assistant like this?”
“Honestly, I don’t even recall the
woman’s name. We maybe said a couple words to each other. I never asked her to dinner. And I never thought about what she’d look like with my sheets
tangled beneath her after a five minute conversation.”
As I let his words tumble around my
brain, my throat went dry. “I see.”
“Then you’re saying yes,” he said
confidently, and when I closed my eyes, I could easily picture him, sitting in
his office, leaned back with a satisfied smirk playing on his full lips. He
thought he’d won, but he was wrong.
Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t go to
dinner—or anywhere involving sheets—with Oliver.
He wasn’t a part of any of my plans.
I couldn’t want anything to do with him.
Suddenly desperate to put a close to the
conversation, I sighed. “Look, Oliver,” I started, but my eyes jerked open in
surprise when the line went dead. Confused, I twisted toward the keypad. My
gaze landed on a manicured finger pressed on the hook and my heart dropped.
Oh God.
I followed the finger to a delicately
boned hand, an Omega watch, and up to a muscular yet feminine arm. My eyes
wandered over the blue, white, and gray colorblock sheath dress that
Margaret—at fifty-six years old—pulled off better
“So, is it?” he teased. “Jealousy, I
mean. A simple yes or no will work.”
I’d been in Oliver’s presence only once
in my adult life, and I could already say that, without a doubt, there was no
such thing as simple when it came to that man. Squeezing my eyes shut, I gave
him a few more seconds to respond before I repeated, “How did you get my
address, Oliver?”
When he addressed me, his voice had
lowered to a seductive whisper. “We’ve already gone over this, Lizzie. I’m not
fucking Dora. She’s not my only connection.”
“Then who is?”
“I didn’t intend to piss you off.”
Frowning, I rested my elbows on my desk.
His words would be so much more believable if I wasn’t one hundred percent
certain he was grinning at the moment.
“Avoiding my question isn’t exactly
helping that.” I massaged tiny circles into my right temple. “You’re not going
to tell me, are you?” When he responded with another chuckle, I questioned,
“And what will happen if I go down to Dora’s office and ask her if she gave you
my address?”
“Then I’d likely receive a very angry
call from her. She’d ask me the same questions you’re asking, she’d threaten to
tell my mother to which I’d tell her to go—”
“Since you’re obviously not going to
enlighten me,” I enunciated each syllable for emphasis, “should I return the
gift card to the address on the Manning Hotel Group envelope or do you want me
to leave it at the security desk here?”
He was speechless for a few seconds, and
then he said in the most serious tone I’d heard him use yet, “I’m not taking it back, Lizzie.”
“You will if I refuse to accept it.”
“You’re refusing a thousand-dollar gift
card?”
I nearly dropped the receiver. “A
thousand—” I took a deep breath. God, was he that far out of touch with reality?
“Why the hell would you send me that much? It’s an iPhone, not a—”
“I know what it is, and I looked up the
price. Since I didn’t know the model, I added some padding. You’re not going to
return it to me.”
Padding my ass. “I don’t want it.”
“Then give it to someone else. Because if
you do return it to me, I’ll personally show up with it next time.”
“You wouldn’t make it past the doorman,”
I said, which was a lie because though the presence of a doorman was one of the
aspects that had helped me decide on my Marina del Rey apartment, I’d yet to
see one on duty. Still, Oliver didn’t know that. I moved the checkerboard
paperweight off his letter. Fuming, I jerked the first desk drawer open and
swept it all—envelope and gift card included—inside. “Did you treat your mom’s
last assistant like this?”
“Honestly, I don’t even recall the
woman’s name. We maybe said a couple words to each other. I never asked her to dinner. And I never thought about what she’d look like with my sheets
tangled beneath her after a five minute conversation.”
As I let his words tumble around my
brain, my throat went dry. “I see.”
“Then you’re saying yes,” he said
confidently, and when I closed my eyes, I could easily picture him, sitting in
his office, leaned back with a satisfied smirk playing on his full lips. He
thought he’d won, but he was wrong.
Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t go to
dinner—or anywhere involving sheets—with Oliver.
He wasn’t a part of any of my plans.
I couldn’t want anything to do with him.
Suddenly desperate to put a close to the
conversation, I sighed. “Look, Oliver,” I started, but my eyes jerked open in
surprise when the line went dead. Confused, I twisted toward the keypad. My
gaze landed on a manicured finger pressed on the hook and my heart dropped.
Oh God.
I followed the finger to a delicately
boned hand, an Omega watch, and up to a muscular yet feminine arm. My eyes
wandered over the blue, white, and gray colorblock sheath dress that
Margaret—at fifty-six years old—pulled off better