Read Online Uncovering You: The Contract by Scarlett Edwards - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Scarlett Edwards
Tags: Suspense, Erótica, Romance, Literature & Fiction, General Fiction, romantic suspense, Mystery & Suspense, Romantic
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Stonehart’ says,’” I spit. This is beyond insulting. “I don’t want to hear about false sympathies or any other bullshit. If ‘Mr. Stonehart’ is truly sorry, he’ll reinstate the contract and get me my job back!”
I slam the phone on its base with such force that a splinter cracks across the glass table. Good.
The phone call has me really upset. I’m sure it’s Amy, just rubbing salt in the wound.
As if the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company would give a rat’s ass about what happens to me!
Just as I’m turning away, the phone rings again. I debate ignoring it, but I feel like screaming at someone.
I grab it and knock the base over. “Amy, I swear to God, when I find out it’s you—”
“ Lilly .” A rich, deep voice answers me. I’ve never heard this voice before. But the two syllables of my name are enough to cut me off. There is an unspoken quality of command that naturally makes me want to obey.
I’ve never heard my name said quite like that before.
“This is Lilly Ryder, am I correct?”
“Yes,” I whisper. The speaker’s voice is smoky and smooth all at once. Take one part Morgan Freeman, mix it with another part Sean Connery, and you still won’t hold a candle to the masculine power projected in this voice.
It’s enough to make my core clench with the most desperate type of need.
“Good. Lilly, my name is Stonehart. My secretary called you. But I take it she did not leave the most convincing impression?”
I stammer something incomprehensible, shocked to actually be on the line with the Stonehart of Stonehart Industries. Instinct tells me this isn’t a joke anymore.
“I’ll make this brief,” he continues. “I heard about what happened. I want to offer reparation for the injuries suffered by my decision. Come to my office Thursday morning. I will have my driver outside your apartment at eight. He will bring you here and back. You don’t know me yet, but you will find I am a man of my word.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone in my hand like it might grow wings.
Did that really just happen?
I fly to my computer and pull up YouTube. I search “Stonehart speech.”
A lot of results come up, most of them useless, except for one: Mr. Stonehart giving the commencement speech to the Wharton Business School class of 2010.
I click the video and read the description while it loads. Apparently, Stonehart is a Wharton alumni. His company donated twelve million dollars to the university to establish a scholarship fund that year.
The video starts. It’s shaky and low-quality, so I can’t get a good look at the speaker, but when his voice comes through my speakers… my mind instantly places it.
It’s the voice of the man who just called me.
Holy shit .
Holy shit! The CEO of an enormous corporation just called me.
Personally.
I walk to the kitchen in a sort of daze. I pour myself a glass of water. Set it on the counter. Walk away.
My mind is buzzing with questions. The most prevalent of which is, “Why?”
Why would Stonehart care about what happened to me? Why would he call me himself?
A Google search reveals nothing about him and very little about his corporation. Their website is a blank screen with the words “Stonehart Industries” in silver lettering across the middle. Nothing more.
Should I go to the meeting? I snort a laugh. I can’t exactly turn it down. A call like that doesn’t happen every day.
If I do go… I will have to keep expectations to a minimum. I should expect nothing, in fact, and be pleasantly surprised if something comes up. It’s a stretch, anyway.
Stonehart is not Paul.
I have two days left until Thursday. The best thing to do is keep planning my future as if the call never happened.
I cannot rely on it.
Chapter Twenty
(Three weeks ago: Thursday morning)
I step out of the black limousine in front of a towering glass and steel building. I am wearing a Classiques Entier Diamond Blend jacket, matching
I slam the phone on its base with such force that a splinter cracks across the glass table. Good.
The phone call has me really upset. I’m sure it’s Amy, just rubbing salt in the wound.
As if the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company would give a rat’s ass about what happens to me!
Just as I’m turning away, the phone rings again. I debate ignoring it, but I feel like screaming at someone.
I grab it and knock the base over. “Amy, I swear to God, when I find out it’s you—”
“ Lilly .” A rich, deep voice answers me. I’ve never heard this voice before. But the two syllables of my name are enough to cut me off. There is an unspoken quality of command that naturally makes me want to obey.
I’ve never heard my name said quite like that before.
“This is Lilly Ryder, am I correct?”
“Yes,” I whisper. The speaker’s voice is smoky and smooth all at once. Take one part Morgan Freeman, mix it with another part Sean Connery, and you still won’t hold a candle to the masculine power projected in this voice.
It’s enough to make my core clench with the most desperate type of need.
“Good. Lilly, my name is Stonehart. My secretary called you. But I take it she did not leave the most convincing impression?”
I stammer something incomprehensible, shocked to actually be on the line with the Stonehart of Stonehart Industries. Instinct tells me this isn’t a joke anymore.
“I’ll make this brief,” he continues. “I heard about what happened. I want to offer reparation for the injuries suffered by my decision. Come to my office Thursday morning. I will have my driver outside your apartment at eight. He will bring you here and back. You don’t know me yet, but you will find I am a man of my word.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone in my hand like it might grow wings.
Did that really just happen?
I fly to my computer and pull up YouTube. I search “Stonehart speech.”
A lot of results come up, most of them useless, except for one: Mr. Stonehart giving the commencement speech to the Wharton Business School class of 2010.
I click the video and read the description while it loads. Apparently, Stonehart is a Wharton alumni. His company donated twelve million dollars to the university to establish a scholarship fund that year.
The video starts. It’s shaky and low-quality, so I can’t get a good look at the speaker, but when his voice comes through my speakers… my mind instantly places it.
It’s the voice of the man who just called me.
Holy shit .
Holy shit! The CEO of an enormous corporation just called me.
Personally.
I walk to the kitchen in a sort of daze. I pour myself a glass of water. Set it on the counter. Walk away.
My mind is buzzing with questions. The most prevalent of which is, “Why?”
Why would Stonehart care about what happened to me? Why would he call me himself?
A Google search reveals nothing about him and very little about his corporation. Their website is a blank screen with the words “Stonehart Industries” in silver lettering across the middle. Nothing more.
Should I go to the meeting? I snort a laugh. I can’t exactly turn it down. A call like that doesn’t happen every day.
If I do go… I will have to keep expectations to a minimum. I should expect nothing, in fact, and be pleasantly surprised if something comes up. It’s a stretch, anyway.
Stonehart is not Paul.
I have two days left until Thursday. The best thing to do is keep planning my future as if the call never happened.
I cannot rely on it.
Chapter Twenty
(Three weeks ago: Thursday morning)
I step out of the black limousine in front of a towering glass and steel building. I am wearing a Classiques Entier Diamond Blend jacket, matching
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