Push Me (To The Edge series, #1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

that be?”
    “Answer it.” Ian urged.
    I got up, padded across the carpet, looked through the peephole and saw a guy wearing a black blazer with the hotel logo on it.
    This was more than a little intrusive and annoying.
    “Hang on,” I said through the door.
    “Yes ma’am. Just room service with your breakfast.”
    I pulled my robe on and said, “I’m not hungry, Ian.” Not being a morning person, my appetite didn’t get rolling until at least 10 a.m., and I’d usually have just a piece of fruit or something light. Eating this early made my stomach unsettled. Ian insisted that breakfast was the most important meal of the day and that I’d get used to it, but I hadn’t in nearly a year, and he wasn’t giving up.
    “You have to eat,” he said. “I ordered you two egg-whites, wheat toast, orange juice , and coffee.”
    “Fine.” It wasn’t often that I let frustration seep into the words I spoke to Ian, but this was one of those times.
    “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You know I only want the best for you.”
    “Let me get the door and I’ll call you back, okay?”
    Off the phone and standing alone in my room with the breakfast tray on the table a few minutes later, I stood there and stared at it, then put it out in the hallway, but kept the coffee.
    I sipped it as I called Ian back. By then, he was in the limo, on his way to the office.
    He asked if I ate the breakfast, I fibbed and said yes, then tried to redirect his attention. “What do you have planned today?”
    “I’ll be out of the office most of the day. Going to check out a company we’ve been looking at.”
    Ian Baker was the CEO of Baker Capital, an investment firm he had founded with some start-up money his grandfather had given him when Ian graduated from Yale. He was good at what he did, which is why he was worth roughly seven hundred million dollars.
    That’s how he had put i t when he told me: “roughly seven hundred million.” Like he might not be sure exactly how much it was.
    You know how that can be. Sort of like how we regular people might not be certain how much cash we have on us—is it twenty bucks, twenty-five, seven hundred million?
    Anyway, t hat’s basically all I knew about his business. Early on in our relationship I had asked about it, and he’d been vague—saying simply that it wasn’t that interesting and while he was good at what he did, he wasn’t passionate about it—giving me the sense that he didn’t want to talk about it for some reason, so I let it go. It was easy to avoid, as work never came up much in our conversations. Ian had little or no interest in my job, outside of my travel plans.
    “What time will you be finished today?” he asked.
    I started to get moving, laying out my clothes for the day. “I’m not sure. Maybe six or so.”
    “What are you wearing, Dawn?”
    “Nothing exciting,” I said, which was true. I was wearing a t-shirt and flannel pajama pants. During the night, the room had alternated between too hot and too cold, and I decided it was easier to turn the AC on low and put more clothes on rather than lie there in the stifling, insomnia-inducing heat.
    “I’ve got a call coming in,” he said. “I’ll text you later.”
    “Okay.”
    I was glad he had to go. I wasn’t in the mood for sexy talk, which was what he was trying to start by asking me what I was wearing. More than once, conversations like that had verged on phone sex, something I was totally not into.
    I debated whether to lie back down again, but the coffee had jolted me awake, so I figured I might as well get a start on my workday.
    I took a long shower and turned on the TV while I was getting dressed. It was still on ESPN, and they were showing clips from last night’s baseball game. They didn’t show Sam, but I heard his voice in the background.
    I briefly considered texting him. But why? What would I say? And did I really need to start talking to him, no matter how innocently, when I had so much