Made in America Read Online Free PDF

this girl once she leaves my office, but I do, and that concerns me, too. It concerns me a lot, because Raven and I, we don’t mix. Her and I, we’re from two different worlds, but I can’t get the naughty images I’ve had all week of her out of my head. I want to fuck her so badly, but I also find myself wanting to protect her in a way I haven’t felt with anyone in a long, long time, which is insanity. I’ve just met this girl. I don’t know a thing about her.
    “How much do you make?” I ask, and as soon as the question leaves my lips I realize I should’ve phrased that better.
    “What?” she balks. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
    “It’s not, but I’m curious. Humor me, okay?”
    She sighs. “$7.75 an hour…plus tips.”
    Raven emphasizes that last part, plus tips.
    “Touché,” I reply.
    “How much do you make?” she asks.
    “A lot,” I say.
    “No way,” she leans forward with renewed enthusiasm and puts an elbow on my desk. Rests her chin in the palm of her hand and crinkles up her nose matter-of-factly. “I want numbers.”
    “It’s hard to break it down to an hourly wage. Last year with everything combined we grossed a profit of just under five hundred million dollars before taking everything else into consideration.”
    Her eyes bulge out of their sockets as she gasps at the obscene amount, because really, it is obscene. Five hundred million? That’s more money than any one person could spend in a lifetime, probably. But it’s not all mine. I have employees and contractors and overhead. Things that cost a lot of money to keep up with.
    She snatches my laptop from in front of me and cracks it open.
    “Hey,” I chide.
    Raven holds up a finger as if telling me to wait, so I stare at her with an amused look on my face. Who is this girl? For a while she says nothing, but rather focuses intently on typing something before her eyes go wide once more. She turns the laptop around and shows me.
    It’s a web calculator.
    “What’s that say?” she asks.
    “$240,384.62.”
    “That’s how much money you made an hour last year. Two hundred and forty thousand dollars. A fucking hour.”
    “Does that shock you?”
    “No, it doesn’t shock me. It pisses me off because here I am scraping by on just barely minimum wage, trying to find a new shit hole to live in, and there you are making…that!”
    My brow creases. “So you…what? Want me to apologize for my success now, too? I’m not going to do that, Raven.”
    “No, I don’t want you to apologize for your success. I’m just—”
    “Jealous?”
    She stares daggers through me. Thins out her lips while gazing fiercely into my eyes. God, she’s so fucking hot when she’s angry.
    But she nods. Whispers, “Yeah,” like she’s ashamed for feeling the way she does.
    I lean back, lace my fingers behind my head, and look upon her for a while. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat as I watch her. Regarding her with an air of curiosity like she’s some specimen in a zoo, but she’s not. Raven is far from anyone’s captive, but I wouldn’t mind if she was mine.
    “What?” she asks self-consciously.
    I smile at the bright idea running through my head. I have a lot of ideas. Tons of them every single day. This one, though, this one could get me in a lot of hot water, but I can’t help loving it.
    “What?” she asks again. “Do I have something on my face?”
    I lean forward and ask, “How’d you like a job?”
     

- 4 -
     
    Raven
     
     
    Grant’s question shocks me, and for the first time since meeting him, I flinch, and sit upright in a leather seat that’s probably worth more than I make in six months.
    A job?
    I stare into his eyes. Gorgeous, haunting, serious eyes that have a bit of danger to them. I’ve been hard-pressed not to stare into them from the moment I walked into his office, but now I think his question warrants a little serious gazing.
    This isn’t how I expected things to go.
    When I got