Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 31800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 159(@200wpm)___ 127(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
It was the last time anyone saw her alive, with news the next day reporting both my mother and her lover dying of drug overdose.
I lean back against the seat, my eyes squeezing shut as my driver pulls away into the night.
It’s better to be alone, I try convincing myself, than to follow in my father’s footsteps and turn our family into the national laughingstock for the second time.
Scarlette
I spent forty-seven minutes researching the least traumatic way to tell your grandmother that your engagement is over.
Forty-seven minutes.
But Google was surprisingly unhelpful on this topic. Who knew?
The top results were mostly about “managing family expectations during relationship transitions” and “communicating major life changes with elderly relatives.” One particularly useless article suggested bringing flowers and her favorite dessert to “soften the emotional blow.”
Riiight.
Because cupcakes solve everything.
By the time I gave up on the internet, I’d narrowed it down to three approaches.
Grandma, we broke up.
It’s simple and direct to the point. Rip the Bandaid off real quick kind of method. But it also presents the highest risk of giving Grandma Jackie a heart attack, so...nope.
So, let’s move on to Approach #2.
Grandma, Lykan and I have decided to explore different paths.
It’s very gentle and safe. Like something designed for infants. Or in this case, equally sensitive elderly citizens. But...it’s also likely to give my grandmother false hope, so...nope, not this either, which then leaves me with...
“Grandma, the sheikh and I have decided to consciously uncouple.”
Because when in doubt, always take a leaf from Gwyneth Paltrow’s book—
Grandma Jackie, who’s elbow-deep in tomorrow’s bread prep, doesn’t even look up from her mixing bowl. “You seem to have forgotten Yellow’s my favorite song.”
—and it should work. Or at least it usually does...unless your grandmother’s a die-hard fan of Coldplay, and how in the world have I forgotten about that?
Aaaargh.
“So what really did happen between you two? Lover’s tiff?”
I grab my purse. “Oh, look at the time.”
“You don’t have a watch.”
I pretend not to hear this. “I have to go, Grandma. I don’t want to be late for work.”
“Which you won’t be, since it’s just five-thirty.”
La-la-la-la-lah.
I love her, I really do, but I just wish she’d be a normal grandmother sometimes. Or at least be nice enough to pretend to have problems with her memory. Just to make things less awkward, you know?
And speaking of awkward...
Phew.
The security guard by the entrance doesn’t even look up when the card reader beeps and turns green, and I’m able to push past the turnstiles. Since he now owns everything in this building—and the actual building as well, for that matter—I was worried everyone would know about what happened.
But...so far, so good.
The other employees start coming in after an hour, but no one’s been giving me any weird looks or whispering behind my back. I guess this is what the sheikh meant about “taking care” of our short-lived engagement. It just takes a snap of his royal fingers, and it’s as if we were never engaged to be married.
And that’s okay, I tell myself.
In fact, it’s the best thing ever since any kind of whirlwind romance with royalty is the definition of insanity. Commoners like me are called commoners for a reason. Our world is ruled by common sense while those who live in fairytale palaces and go around in horse-drawn carriages are, well...
they just operate under a different set of rules, let’s leave it at that...since there’s a more important kind of leaving I need to attend to.
Letter of Resignation
To Whom It May Concern:
Like Little Red Riding Hood, I too have been devoured by a corporate wolf. Unlike the fairy tale version, however, there will be no brave woodsman coming to my rescue. There is only the harsh reality that some stories don’t have happy endings, and some little girls should have listened to their mothers about staying on the path.
Therefore, I must tender my resignation from Vista Lending, effective immediately. I realize this may seem sudden, but when one’s professional reputation has been eaten alive by predatory business practices—
I stop typing and delete the entire paragraph.
Get a grip, Scar.
I need to make this the most professional letter I’ve ever written in my entire life. My dignity depends on it.
To Whom It May Concern:
Please accept this letter as formal notification of my resignation from my position at Vista Lending. My last day will be—
The phone rings, and I stare at it like it’s a venomous snake.
Nope. Not today. Not happening.
I’ve had enough phone calls to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. Between Vaughn’s devastating friend-zoning and Lykan’s...well, everything about Lykan...I’m officially done with telecommunications.
The ringing stops.
Phew.
I go back to my resignation letter.
My last day will be two weeks from—
The door to my office suddenly bursts open, and I jump to my feet when Mr. Clarens pokes his head in.
“Sir?”
Something definitely has happened, for my normally composed supervisor to look this frazzled. His usually perfect hair is slightly mussed, his tie askew, and there’s a sheen of perspiration on his forehead despite the office’s aggressive air conditioning.