Enamored - J. S. Scott Page 0,3

it than I’d had back then.

Now, I couldn’t get away from the female sex. It seemed like every single one of the women who approached me was now interested in a long-term relationship with a billionaire.

Riley Montgomery had been completely . . . different.

She hadn’t wanted anything.

In fact, she’d helped me out.

Her actions had been purely selfless.

Until we’d realized each other’s identities.

It had pretty much gone to hell after that.

I clicked on the space bar of my computer, bringing up the latest email I’d gotten from Riley.

I’d been getting ready to answer it when Jade had barged into my office.

Okay, maybe I was being an asshole, but if I gave up the land without a fight, Riley Montgomery would have no reason to ever contact me again.

And that would be a damn shame.

I grinned, knowing I’d reply to her missive right after my two o’clock appointment.

I picked up the call to get my meeting underway, still wondering what I’d say to Riley.

CHAPTER 2

RILEY

Dear Ms. Montgomery:

First, although I’d very much like to kiss your ass as you suggested, I could think of several other places I’d love to put my mouth on first if I could get you naked.

Second, my sister Jade visited my office today. Apparently, she’s become one of your allies. If you think she’ll help your cause, believe me, she won’t.

Third, the birds you worried so much about are now gone, which means I can proceed and get my building permit.

Like I’ve mentioned before, I’d be more than happy to discuss this situation in person. Let me know when your schedule permits a face-to-face meeting.

Also, in response to your question about whether or not I’m capable of reading, I can, but I often don’t. Since I was raising my younger siblings during my adolescence and most of my adulthood, I’ve had very little time for books.

Sincerely,

Seth Sinclair

CEO

Sinclair Properties, Inc.

“Jackass!” I growled out loud as I slammed my fist on my desk, something I did nearly every time I got an email from Sinclair.

Refusing to think about the inappropriate communication I’d just received from the most annoying, irritating, cold-blooded male I’d ever had the misfortune of meeting, I rose from my seat in my home office.

“Tea. I need a cup of tea,” I mumbled as I made my way to the kitchen.

Honestly, my blood was still boiling from reading his email. But what really pissed me off was the fact that I knew my face was still pink from his suggestive comments.

I can’t let him get to me.

I was a professional. I shouldn’t be blushing like a ridiculous teenage girl just because some jackass was throwing suggestive comments out by email.

How does he manage to turn every insult into something sexual?

I shoved a mug underneath my coffeemaker to get hot water for my tea.

Okay, maybe not every hateful comment I wrote to him became a sexual innuendo. Lately, he’d made it a point to write something about himself at the end of each communication, being deliberately obtuse about the true meaning of my words.

Can’t you read well, Mr. Sinclair?

That had been my original jab.

He’d turned it into an answer that had nothing to do with my put-down.

I frowned as I dropped the bag of tea into my mug.

Seth Sinclair was presumptuous. I didn’t want to get to know him.

Then why does the fact that he gave up everything to take care of his younger siblings leave me with more questions I really want to ask?

Occasionally, when he was nice to me, I dropped a tidbit or two about myself, too. In between contemptuous remarks, of course.

I added a small amount of milk to my tea, and a ton of sugar. Just the way I liked it. I leaned my hip against the kitchen counter and took a sip.

Ahhh . . . bliss. Not as good as the chai mocha lattes that I drank way too much of from the Coffee Shack. But any strong, hot, sweetened tea would do in a pinch. It helped calm the desire to slug Sinclair for his current email.

For months, I’d managed to be professional with Seth Sinclair. I wasn’t even sure how my emails to him had become personally insulting—with some tiny fact about myself mixed in at the very end.

Maybe because he’d started it.

Well, not the insults, because he never really seemed to lose his temper and write something insulting, but the dropping of a little bit of personal information in each email.

So, he isn’t a reader.

That was understandable if every moment