Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
This is the end of the world. It’s the worst possible outcome imaginable. Not only is Mr. Whelan going to lose his mind, but he’s going to murder me. He’s going to do it right here and right now.
I’m going to get killed by a beautiful God.
In slow motion, he pulls back the box flaps. I make a strange, squealing noise, sort of a cross between a moan and a scream. He doesn’t glance up because he’s staring down at something I can’t see, and apparently, he’s transfixed.
Slowly, he lifts out a set of slutty lingerie. It’s pink, frilly, and doesn’t cover much.
His eyebrows raise. He puts the lingerie away and lifts out another set. This one’s black and sheer. The website described it as sleek as sexy under the midnight sky, whatever that means.
“What is this?” he asks, sounding more bemused than angry.
More lingerie follows. Six full sets. And at the very bottom, he finds the most mortifying part of all.
He lifts it up and stares.
It’s sleek, around five inches, because I was afraid of anything bigger. It’s purple for some weird reason. The end is tapered and there’s a single button at the base. He taps it almost like he knew it was there and the whole dick-shaped thing begins to buzz.
Rechargeable battery. Obviously.
He stares at it. I stare at it. Neither of us moves.
“Ms. Brennan? I believe someone sent me a package of lingerie and sex toys.” His face tightens. I nearly pass out at the words sex toys coming from his perfect lips. He taps the vibrator and it turns off. “Who would be so stupid and crass? What insane idiot would have—” He reaches into the box one last time and takes out the receipt. He stares at it, jaw working, and he slowly places the vibrator back into the box.
Then he looks at me.
I know. Right then, I know he knows. I’m not sure how he figured it out so fast, but there’s no doubt in my mind. Something on that receipt gave it away. Was it the name? The address? No, that can’t be it. Maybe—
The card I used.
He saw my payment information. I’ve used that card before for office supplies and had to submit receipts to get reimbursement. I’m betting Mr. Whelan knows the numbers of every single credit card in use by Mainline Logistics, and he probably recognizes the last four digits of mine.
The silence is horrifying.
“I only have one question,” he says, putting the receipt back into the box and slowly bending the flaps closed. But they won’t stay down and I can still see the purple vibrator staring out. I want to scream and light the whole thing on fire. “Was this some kind of sick joke, or was it an accident?”
“Accident,” I manage to say, which is a feat of pure self-control, because I’m right on the verge of gagging and dying.
“I see.” His lips press together. “And are you in the habit of buying adult items and having them delivered to your place of work?”
“No, I swear, Mr. Whelan. This was just a stupid misunderstanding. The mailroom intern—”
“Don’t blame someone else for your mistake, Ms. Brennan.” His tone is icy and sharp like a whip.
I grit my teeth, grimacing. If he doesn’t murder me on the spot, he’s at least definitely going to fire me.
Which is good because it means I won’t be subjected to his nightmarish whims anymore. But bad since there’s no way I’ll ever find an entry-level job that pays so much.
See ya later, house of my own. I can already picture it receding into the distant mists of time.
“You’re right. I apologize. I’m mortified, honestly. I was too embarrassed to have that shipped to my house since I still live with my aunt. She opens my mail sometimes, mostly because she’s not paying close attention, and I didn’t want her to find all that stuff. I thought it would be safer coming here.”
His expression somehow hardens. He goes from cold to straight-up polar iceberg. “Not the best judgment ever.”
“Please, Mr. Whelan. That box was a whim.” I don’t know why, but I suddenly feel the whole story spilling out of me in a torrent, and I can’t seem to shut myself up. “I’ve been stood up ten times in the last six months. I haven’t been on more than two dates with a man since high school. It’s like I’m putting out some kind of repulsive pheromone or something. I saw that Spicy Self-Care box was on sale and I thought maybe it would help make me feel more confident, and maybe that would help me feel less lonely, and now I’m saying it out loud and I realize how pathetic it is, and I’m sorry, Mr. Whelan. You can fire me now. Actually, no, don’t worry, I’ll just pack my stuff. You don’t have to speak.”