Page 60 of Take It Offline

It glittered with spontaneity.

And sure, material things are nice, and first class is a superior way of traveling, but real wealth?

Real wealth is measured in time.

Time to think, breathe, relax—thousands of hours at my disposal to spend on anything and nothing.

I’d take limitless time over a hundred Cartier bracelets any day.

Now, as I wait outside the meeting room I’ve booked and watch the guys inside laugh and stretch and, more importantly, waste my time, it’s clear I’ll never get half the respect Charlie gets.

Speak of the devil. Without even pausing, Charlie walks past me, opens the door and pokes his head in. “Finish up, would you, fellas?”

No stress in his tone. Just a short, sharp command.

Immediately, they’re up and out with a smile. Jojo even claps him on the shoulder and suggests they meet for drinks soon.

I swallow my annoyance.

How nice it is to be heard and obeyed.

It’s what I envy about Charlie. His confidence walks into the room before he does. It’s all there, bright and sparkling and undeniable. He dazzles. Slips under people’s defenses with a grin, slips out with his prize and a thank-you. Even I can see he’s a shoo-in for this promotion.

The man is a leader, where I’ve only ever been told to follow.

“What did that keyboard ever do to you?” Charlie teases.

It’s been half an hour since I saw anyone but us in the office. It’s not so late that it’s dark outside, but I do feel bad for keeping Charlie here so long.

Luckily, I’m at the end of my notes, because I can feel my brain shutting down.

Ivy’s been on my case for years to stop working overtime, but there are too many people watching me. Too many people waiting for the second I stop working this hard so they can point out that I’m resting on my family’s money.

I won’t let them.

“I’m almost done. You don’t need to wait.”

Charlie groans as he stretches, the movement pulling his shirt taut over his chest, shoulders, biceps. It’s a visual feast of long, lean muscle, and my hungry eyes devour every inch.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” he asks. “You’re always working. Even when you’re not here, you’re thinking about it.”

I tear my eyes away from his chest, flushing. “Of course I do. Most nights, I’m lucky to eat a meal that isn’t ordered or microwaved.”

“You don’t cook?” he asks, frowning thoughtfully.

I shoot him a grin. “Who needs to cook when Romeo’s is three blocks away?”

“I’ll give you that one. They do good burgers.” He rocks back in his chair, throwing his hands behind his head. His arms are obscenely hot, but I’m too offended by his comment to linger on them.

“Excuse me, Romeo’s does thebestburgers.”

“Hard disagree on that.” He smirks. “You haven’t had mine yet.”

It’s not the only thing I want from him that I shouldn’t.

“I know exactly what you’re trying to do, and that is the laziest type of reverse psychology I’ve ever heard.”

“But is it working?”

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