Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
The marble vanity unit chinks when I place my beaded purse and glass down, and I take a breath. Two. Three. “Goddamn it,” I whisper, in a starring deadlock with myself in the mirror, glaring at my reflection while silently screaming to not let myself down. A drink will calm you. “No.” My voice is broken but adamant.
I puff up my already failing waves—I’m out of practice—and rub my lips together. The low neckline of my dress makes the dips above my collarbones look exaggerated too. Bony. I sigh, paying attention to my body for the first time in forever. I’m too thin. The long sleeves of the dress and the tight fit make it impossible not to notice. I can’t remember the last time I ate three meals in a day. Shopping and cooking for one feels like an impossible task. And pointless. I’ve never been a foodie. But I ate a lot, and I ate healthily. He insisted. And I didn’t object, because it was his arena, the kitchen, where he’d spend most of his evening prepping and serving, while I . . . did other things. I ate to live. He lived to eat. I was healthy without trying, and I was grateful for that. Completely. As I was grateful for the nutrition lessons with each meal.
“Fuck,” I curse, snapping myself away from my memories and rummaging through my purse for my lipstick. My shaky hands don’t help when I reapply, the colour falling outside the line of my lips. Or is that because I’m out of practice in this area too? I peek down at the gold Charlotte Tilbury tube, wondering if I should even be using this lipstick. I can’t remember the last time I did. When your life had colour. Finding it was like a haphazard stumble around the landmines in my life as I blindly felt through the box marked CAMRYN - DRESSING TABLE endless inanimate objects from my past waiting to be pulled free so they could explode in my face.
I reach for my mouth and trace the tip of my finger across my bottom lip, tidying it up.
You don’t wear lipstick, but you don’t need to. Because your lips are naturally rosy.
Ringing from inside my purse makes it vibrate on the counter, and I snap out of my thoughts, pulling it out and answering. “Thomas.” I pop the lid on my lipstick and stuff it back into my purse.
“Just checking you’re still coming.” I hear the caution in his voice as well as I see the stranger in the mirror before me.
“I’m just walking in.” I hang up, collect my things, and drag my game face from deep down. My shoulders are back, my spine straight as I hoof the door open. Three strides in toward the ballroom, Thomas appears at the doors, his green velvet tuxedo beyond the realms of extravagant. He’s walking proof that money doesn’t buy you taste. He looks like an elf gone wrong.
His eyes fall down my black dress when he finds me.
“Problem?” I ask.
“Not at all.”
“Good.” I pass him, and he quickly catches up, falling into stride beside me. “One hour,” I remind him.
“Yes, yes.”
“I might hang around longer so you can explain why your accounts look like a CFO’s nightmare.”
He skids to a stop on his black patent dress shoes that wouldn’t look out of place on the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. “You’ve seen the draft accounts?”
Realising he’s fallen behind, I stop too, assessing his disposition. I can’t fathom whether he’s annoyed or embarrassed. Perhaps annoyed with Jeff. The embarrassment must be for me. Did he tell Jeff not to share the accounts with me? “Something tells me you’re aware of the mess they’re in.”
“Let’s chat on Monday.” He makes to walk on, but halts obediently when I deliver his name on a sharp hiss, and his green velvet shoulders drop as he braves facing me. “It’s in hand.”
“Thomas, can I remind you of the position you gave me?”
He rolls his eyes. “You don’t need to remind me, Camryn.”
“I think I do, Thomas, because since you’ve hired me, you’ve persistently broken my budgets, made financial decisions behind my back, let your wife and son go off on spending tangents, and obliterated my financial forecasts, which would have had your company ready for the team to move in and get to work well before now.”
“It’s not so bad.”
“You’ve paid yourself and your board members, aka your wife and son, over ten million this year. What do you think that looks like to potential investors? And that’s before we take into consideration all of the transactions I’m finding on the business credit cards that aren’t business related.”
“Can we discuss this on Monday?”
“What am I doing here?”
“What?”
“Why am I here, Thomas? I’m the CFO of your company, a role your wife begrudgingly stepped away from, and I have absolutely no control of the company’s finances. Am I expected to paint a glorious picture of your profitability? Lead the industry to believe you’re smashing it out of the park?”