Page 3 of The Contract


Font Size:  

But soon, flames burst from her cheeks and spiked through her whole body. The raw, embarrassing truth hit her like a speeding truck on ice.

Crap.

How much of their conversation had he overheard? She searched her brain, trying to remember what else she and Marcy had spoken about, but the sole topic of discussion had been her freaking nether region.










Chapter Two

––––––––

Kensley cringed sohard on the inside that she thought her skin would crack. What kind of dumb luck was this new crap she had to put up with, where a complete stranger, actually a perfect specimen of a male, had undoubtedly overheard enough of a conversation about her too—what had Marcy called it?

Oh, right, her malnourished vagina?

Oh god.

To make matters worse, because they weren’t already, she unconsciously clasped her hands together in front of her like a first-class nut trying to hide her privates. What the actual heck was wrong with her? She was now drawing more attention to the area she didn’t want any attention on.

To undo the staggeringly stupid defense she had produced, she untangled her hands as if they had electrocuted each other. Hot blood continued to pool in her cheeks.

She had no idea what to do with the situation, herself, or her vagina. So instead, she placed her hands on her hips like a schoolteacher, getting ready to scold the class for disorderly behavior. She was in the class. It was her behavior that had been disorderly.

The man had completely displaced her, and she wasn't used to such large-scale shifts outside her comfort zone.

A gasp, followed by unintelligible squeaks beside her, compelled her to turn her head toward Marcy, whose fingers were now biting painfully into Kensley's arm while her other hand fiddled with the buttons on her shirt.

The unknown man had a severe speechless effect on her friend, and Marcy never ran out of words and her flirt game was always on target.

Okay, enough of that.

She needed to stop all this nonsense. She forced herself to take control of the situation, tilted her head a fraction, and pursed her lips together. There would be no duck-pouts for her today... or ever.

He was probably their new boss’s assistant or something and he needed directions to the boardroom.

She cleared her throat, then asked, “Can I help you, Mr....?”

“Hunter. Hunter McLeod. But Mr. McLeod to you two,” a tall, platinum-blond, expertly groomed woman said, appearing out of nowhere. Oof. Sandra Hitchcock, the thorn in their asses.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like