Restoring Jordan Read Online Free PDF

occupied and some empty. Odd so many of the empty ones are larger, have natural light, and even a view of a window, and yet I’ve been assigned the smallest with no visible natural light whatsoever…
    Within moments, I’m lost in a maze of hallways and not one of them leads anywhere of particular interest, but as I round a corner into an open expansive room with an amazing view of the downtown skyline, I freeze midstep. I’ve just walked into a room of six men sitting at a massive boardroom table. The conversation stops instantly as all eyes move to me, and I’m suddenly feeling more underdressed than when I met Vera Bitch and her pristine winter-white pant suit. Instead, I’m standing by in my black pants, white shirt, and gray cardigan I attempted to dress up with a thin black belt. These men, on the other hand, are clad in suits—expensive by the look. And while I’ve not yet had the chance to regard any one of the men in particular, I haven’t missed the many thousand dollars’ worth of expensive wool fabric.
    “Please come in. We weren’t expecting company, but since you decided to pay us a visit, you might as well stay.” His words aren’t unfriendly; he’s amused at my interruption, and he appears to be in charge here. He’s handsome but older, and his expression remains calm and good-natured. But it isn’t he who stops me in my tracks as I approach the table; it’s the brutally handsome dark-haired man staring from the opposite side of the table. And while I may not know his name, I do know him. I can’t take my eyes from his, and as I continue to hold his gaze, my breath escapes me in a rush that leaves my mouth hanging open. His composure shows his control and calm, but his jaw tenses with a slight shake of his head. His eyes flit from mine, and I catch the “fuck” mouthed silently.
    The older man who spoke upon my entrance is watching in amusement, and it’s he who speaks first. “I’m Jonathan Foster. I’m the owner, and you are?” His smile is genuine, and his interest in my presence at Foster’s is likewise.
    “I’m … I’m so sorry to interrupt. I just … got lost. I’m … Adeline Parker—the new intern.” I sound terrified, mortified, and I am. I’m the nobody, as my pathetic cubicle has made abundantly clear today, standing in a room of somebodys, and not just any somebodys, but the somebodys. As my gaze returns to the unknown stranger who deflowered me a mere three nights previous, he meets my eyes and speaks.
    “Adeline, hmm?” and after a long and drawn-out pause, “lovely name,” and his gaze remains on me. The other men in the room all stand and introduce themselves, and when it’s his turn, he stands and reaches for my hand. His eyes remain on mine as our hands touch, and he enfolds my small hand in his much larger, masculine grip. “I’m Jordan Ellinwood, Principal of Restorations.” Jordan. My skin tingles and trills at the warmth of his touch, and my mind flashes with memories of his hands, his touch, his mouth on my skin, his intense invasion of my body, and as my mind rewinds to the night we spent together, my gaze drops to his lips. They’re beautiful lips. He never kissed me, and now, in this most inappropriate place, it’s all I can think about.
    His hand still holds mine, and as my gaze returns to his, he speaks once more in a near whisper as he releases my hand from our overlong touch. “Adeline.” As the other men in the room eye us with curiosity, Mr. Foster speaks.
    “Do you two know one another?”
    Yes, we fucked three nights ago. “No.” Sometimes I lie, and Jordan’s raised brow speaks volumes as my gaze returns to his. I’m not sure what his brow is actually saying, but it’s definitely saying something. But he doesn’t out my lie. Instead, he shakes his head with slow deliberation, feigning unfamiliarity of me. This was not supposed to happen. When I regretted I wouldn’t see him again, this wasn’t quite the solution I was