Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 102778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102778 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 514(@200wpm)___ 411(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Quit.” Hal waves a hand as if this piece of advice solves everything in one fell swoop.
“And do what? I need to work. And I can’t just run away whenever things get hard.”
“Felix is a talentless hag,” Hal says with a sneer. “And he knows how to manipulate. You want to stay in that toxic environment? For what? So you can lose your soul?”
“Very dramatic,” Jackson deadpans before looking at me. “But he’s right. Felix isn’t going to teach you anything but how to succeed in business by being an asshole. There are other ways. Do what you love, love who you do.”
“Don’t you mean ‘love what you do’?” I ask with a laugh.
Jackson leers. “That too.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, taking a sip of coffee. “I’ll have lots to do while he and the-thief-who-shall-not-be-named have fun on the Robertson project.”
“Robertson as in Cecelia?” Hal asks.
“Yep.” Cecelia Robertson and her thirty-million-dollar penthouse.
“She bought a dining set from us last year.” Hal crosses one leg over the other. “That bitch better not be ditching it in her redesign.”
“That bitch,” Jackson drawls, looking at me, “is in fierce competition with Janice Marks. I know because that’s all she could talk about during our consultation. How she had to have bigger and better than Janice. How her table could not look anything like something Janice would purchase.”
A slow, evil grin spreads over my face. “You don’t say.”
“Mmm . . . Janice is having a cocktail party at her house in two weeks. Want to be my date, sweet thing?”
Hal glances between us and grins as well. “You two . . .”
At that, I stand. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure as always. But I’m suddenly feeling the need to go in search of a cocktail dress.”
I’ve got a revenge to plan.
It is a sad truth that, yes, I do kill time on social media during work hours. A little lookie-loo over a coffee break, a little web surf at lunch. It’s a bad habit. I’m trying to nix it. But I don’t feel too guilty since I’ve caught Felix doing the same many times now.
Who are we kidding? Our world is one of online addicts.
At lunch on the next Friday, I sit back with my chai tea and go to one of my favorite gossip accounts, a total rag—my shame, my addiction.
My hand pauses over my tracking pad when Dex’s picture pops up in the headline.
At first, it doesn’t compute. Dex is in profile; his mouth—so nicely framed by his lush beard—is stern. Why the hell is he on a gossip site?
Leaning closer to my laptop, my heart pounding, I peer at the story. And the spiced tea I just sipped nearly chokes me.
“Mother fuck . . .”
The headline is large and ugly:
Pippa Bloom offers 1 Million Dollars for
Proof of taking NFL Offensive Lineman
Ethan Dexter’s Virginity.
Heat prickles my cheeks and tingles the tips of my fingers. I can’t believe it. I read the article, a brief piece discussing how this private club called Pippa Bloom doesn’t believe a prime bachelor such as Dex is still a virgin. They want to take him down.
Why? There’s no explanation except for the fact that they’ve just gotten tons of free publicity by putting the public eye on my man.
I’m so angry, I can’t move my eyes from the screen. My fingers shake as I hit post after post discussing the offer, discussing Dex as if he’s some sort of sad case.
My first instinct is to call him. But no, I’ll be all screechy, and that won’t help the situation. I could call Ivy, but I’m guessing she’ll be all screechy, and I can’t handle that right now. I call my friend Violet.
Violet and I were roommates freshman year, and though I quickly moved out to live in my dad’s guesthouse from sophomore year on—because, despite being social, I loved my privacy—we remained close friends.
“What up, Fi-Fi?” she answers in her best bro imitation.
I roll my eyes but smile. “Ms. Day.” Yes, her parents named her Violet Day. Then again, her mother’s name is Sunny, so I’m thinking they were aiming for a theme.
“What can I do you for, Fi?”
“You know you really need to stop talking like your brother. It’s getting uncomfortable.” I laugh when she curses, but the ugly headline still on my screen sobers me. “I met a guy.”
“Ooh, tell me all.”
I can imagine her now, legs pulled up on her massive office chair, her gray eyes wide as she twists a strand of her honey-brown hair around her finger.
“His name is Ethan. He’s a friend of Gray’s. They used to play together in college. He’s a center in the NFL now.”
“A football player? Get the fuck out.”
“I know. I’m surprised too.”
Violet knows my thou-shall-not-date-an-athlete vow well.
“But he’s kind of different. Unexpected. I just . . . I really like him.”