Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
“Fine,” I give in all too easily, sitting up to rub the sleep from my eyes. “But I’m not going to your office. Two days in a row is definitely too much. Plus, I still have to get my ID badge.” I needed to do that yesterday after lunch with Alex, but by the time we finished eating and gabbing, I had to make moves, or I would have been late.
“Better for me. We’ll do this at my penthouse,” he replies smoothly, and before I can even open my mouth to protest, a loud ping goes off in my ear. “Sent you a text. It has my address, the gate code, and the time. See you there.” His tone is commanding.
“Wait, Dom. I didn’t say—” Click. I pull the phone away from my ear. The screen reads Call Ended, and I see his text.
Dom Mercer: Point Tower
1750 Ranier Crest Blvd, PH
Gate Code: 7214
12:30
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. The man is a humane hurricane, pushing his way through every element, or this instance, people. I toss my phone on the mattress, swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and stand up. At least being woken up earlier than I planned, I can get a few things done around here, and the first order of business is to clean my cramped bedroom. The tangled sheets, the discarded toy, and my nightstand drawer standing open are glaring reminders of last night’s self-induced orgasm. A desperate, frantic attempt to relieve the ache the demanding billionaire man built up since I first landed eyes on him up close and personal.
I tidy up the evidence, strip my bed, and hop in the shower. The hot water helps wash away the lingering cogs of sleepiness. Too bad I can’t wash away the sudden familiar dread hitting my gut.
Today is Friday, which means it’s payday. And just like every other payday, the thought of opening my banking page hits my stomach like a lead weight. So much for a relaxing shower. I’m in and out faster than I intended. A quick rinse, a jolt to wake me up and calm the ache between my legs is all I’m allowing myself.
Wrapped in a towel, I walk to the tiny area that has a small kitchen table and bypass the thought of coffee with the way my stomach is churning. I take a seat, pull my laptop toward me, press a button, and it comes to life. As much as I want to ignore the inevitable, it won’t change the outcome of my financial demise. Plus, the numbers never lie, and right now, they’re downright terrifying. The nursing home invoice my mom is in stares at me on the screen. It’s barely maintainable. Okay, fine, it’s not. I’m floundering. The whole just keep swimming motto won’t even work at this juncture. Her insurance doesn’t cover enough, and my paycheck doesn’t cover the remainder of her nursing home bill, my rent, or cost of living. And it’s not like I live a lavish life—my place is postage-stamp small, my car is paid off, and my grocery bill is as small as I can make it, even picking up lunch yesterday courtesy of Alex consisted of a special, and I still used a coupon.
The math isn’t mathing. I’m going to have to get creative to keep the wolves at bay, and not just for this month but for every month after. A heavy, suffocating anxiety squeezes my chest, and placing my hand over my heart does nothing for the rapid beating of my heart. I’ve picked up extras, working six days a week, and the hospital even has me on the call list in case a shift becomes available on my only day off. A second job is looking more and more likely. I could sell some of my old jewelry, except the heirlooms from my mother, but one of those We Buy Gold places wouldn’t give me much. Still, the pressure is becoming unbearable.
I make the remainder of last month’s payment and half of this month, leaving me the exact amount to pay my rent next week and survive off a hundred dollars for gas and groceries. Which means I’ll have to explain the nursing home again that I’ll be late. They’ve given me leniency, but I’m unsure how much longer that will last.
“Shit.” I look at the clock and realize my time is dwindling down. I’ve got to get a move on or I’m going to be late. A few short steps, and I’m in my closet, trying to figure out what to wear. I bypass anything that feels like I’d be trying too hard, forgoing dresses and skirts, landing on a pair of dark, hip-hugging jeans that mold to my curves in all the right places, and pick out a lightweight coral knit sweater. I toss the clothes onto my bed, then head to my dresser for a bra and panties. Since I’ll have to come back after leaving Dom’s to change for work, I opt for comfort in the form of breathable cotton. It’s not sexy, what it is, is comfortable. I pull those on along with socks, then slip on the rest of my clothes.