Want It Wicked: A Broody Billionaire Romance (The Breakaleg Trilogy Book 3) by JC Jaye

Author:JC Jaye [Jaye, JC]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hotpot Happenstance LLC
Published: 2022-08-16T16:00:00+00:00

IRIS: FOURTEEN

“As these figures show, the profits gleaned from the Rancho El Vista golf community have more than quadrupled in the past quarter, largely due to its spectacular new fitness facility. Which brings me to our exciting new project unfolding in Portland, Oregon. Part of the city’s glorious Renaissance…”

Crap!

There went my sweaty fingers again, slipping on the dang pen. I flipped over a sheet of chicken scratch, furiously starting another.

Man, this is the worst. My writing hand is numb, a wicked cramp has seized my left elbow, and my ugly skirt’s bunched underneath me like a beige diaper.

I longed to pause and adjust, but I didn’t dare, in case I missed a stray syllable.

More like, in case the mighty bitch on wheels catches me slacking.

Montgomery’s eyeballs drilled between my shoulder blades as she clacked back and forth behind me, making certain her slave labor was getting down every last decimal point and dollar sign. In my peripherals, her chicken bone arm aimed a laser doohickey at a wall-width computer screen, waving it like an orchestra maestro.

Man, does she look like a dork, pointing that dumb—

Mid-thought, my ears pricked up.

Wait. Slow down there, bucko. Say that again?

The Japanese triplet with the roundest face had the floor, firing off a rapid and near-indecipherable barrage of questions.

scritch, scratch, scritch…

My Montblanc flew as I struggled to keep up. Lordy, it was nigh on impossible to understand the man. He wasn’t the only suit sitting around this table I was having trouble with, either. Just the current one.

The cacophony of mixed accents, combined with repeated mentions of the NIKKEI, the DAX, the S & P, the NASDAQ, and a host of other annoying acronyms, were making my head hurt.

Stir in the tankerload of upcoming projects J & D had on the horizon, complicated cost and profit analyses, stringent building restrictions in countries dotting the globe, mind-numbing insurance rigmarole…

Crackers, I seriously had clue zero what the hell I was struggling to transcribe. Nor did I care.

No, siree. I just wanted to escape.

Needed to escape.

Before a gal could scream, GETMEOUTTAHERE! my page was full again.

scritch, scratch, scritch…

I flicked over another sheet with deadened fingers, longing to be shooting greenery in Central Park with Nikon in hand and earbuds set to high—dozens of cute city squirrels for company instead of a dozen stuffy number-crunchers.

Argh. How much more frigging time?

Yamaguchi eventually came up for air, and I snuck a swift glance over at the clock above the refreshment station. Damn… A mere three minutes and seconds since my last check.

Trying to be subtle about it, I rubbed my neck, the poor thing atrophied from being awkwardly cricked in an unnatural position for over an hour.

Oh, yes… Turned away from the far, left-sided head of the conference table, where a moody, magnificent asshole loomed like a big, black-suited mountain.

(He who shall not be named.)

Asshole. Asshole. Asshole.

Montgomery’s awful voice grated over my shoulder.

“Thank you for your attention, ladies and gentlemen; that concludes our first portion. May I suggest a five-minute break

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