Manwhore +1 Read Free Page A

regardless of him being a player—a manwhore and whatnot?”
    “Gina!” I scowl.
    She scowls back.
    I shouldn’t even be talking to her about this. Gina warned me a thousand times that this would happen. She’d said Don’t get involved with him until she tired of it. Because Saint has a record and I was on assignment. But could I have stopped myself from being swept away?
    He’s a cyclone and I walked straight into the eye of it when I agreed to write that exposé.
    Falling hadn’t been in the plans. Falling for a guy had never even been in my life plan. Gina and I were supposed to be single and happy forever—workaholics, best friends for life, and tight with our families. She’d gotten her heart broken before and she’d passed on all the tidbits to me so that I didn’t have to go through that too. And like that I had protected myself. I was never as interested in men as I was in furthering my career. But Saint is not just any man. He didn’t seduce me in just any way. And what we shared wasn’t just . . . anything.
    I’m a columnist and I should have a concise word to describe him, but I have nothing other than “Sin.”
    Exhilarating, addictive, he is a player who plays it right, a billionaire who is used to being asked for things from people—and in the end, I hate that he must have felt that I was just like everyone else in his life, wanting to get something from him.
    No, Rachel, you’re not like everyone else. You’re worse.
    He sleeps with one groupie for four nights, or four groupies for one. He gives them nothing of himself. Maybe he gives them a check for the charities they ask for, as I once heard one ask him, but this doesn’t put a dent in his account. He lets them feed him grapes in his yacht, if they want to; he’s too spoiled by women to stop them. But he doesn’t give them another passing glance when they leave. But with you, Rachel? He let you in . He fed you a grape in his yacht. He came to your campout not because he likes sleeping outdoors but because he knew you would be there. He told you about four, his lucky number. The number that symbolizes him going above and beyond the norm. Oh god, I have never been so aware of how deep he’d let me in until I stood before him today, completely cast out of what had become my own personal paradise.
    “I would’ve said so many things to him if his man hadn’t been there discussing a position for me.” I pull out the papers and pass them over. “I could hardly concentrate on this with Saint in the room. Even his man was affected.”
    She reads under her breath. “An offer of employment for Rachel Livingston . . .” She lowers the paper and stares at me with those sultry dark eyes that are now as puzzled as I feel.
    “Interface is expanding into news,” I explain.
    She stares down at the papers. “If you don’t want this, I do.”
    I kick her under the table. “Be serious.”
    “I need more sugar.” She goes to the condiment table, returns, and settles back down with a little packet of sugar she adds to her coffee and stirs.
    “What’s a man like him, the CEO, doing in a meeting like that?” She frowns. “Saint is too smart, Rachel. He wanted to make sure you showed up. He fucking wants you there. He is offering health insurance for your next of kin. Your mom. Do you realize what this means for you on the work front?”
    My mom is my weakness.
    Yes, I do realize.
    Saint is offering me . . . the world.
    But a world without him is nothing now.
    “Rachel, though Edge has been getting good press attention since . . .” She throws me an apologetic look because she knows I don’t like remembering the article , then adds, “But how long will that attention last? Edge is still hanging by threads.” She sips her coffee. “And Interface is Interface . It’s not going anywhere but up. M4, Rachel, it’s like . . . huge. None of us have ever dreamed of working there. It hires, like, geniuses from all over the