Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
That makes me pause. He doesn’t sound contrite, exactly, but at least he’s admitting that I know way more about this project than he does, which isn’t something Prime particularly enjoys. I sit up and rub my forehead, doing the math in my head, but my dad’s in bed and likely asleep, and I should be able to trust my mom with him for a few hours.
“I shouldn’t leave,” I say, chewing my thumbnail.
“Please.” That one word sends a shiver down my spine. “I could order you, you know. Make some threats.”
“I bet you’d enjoy that.”
“You know I love bossing you around. Get your pretty ass down here. Bring all those fun numbers you nerds like discussing.”
I hate this. Fucking Prime. He bulls his way into my life, charging through all my boundaries, and even though it drives me crazy, I always end up giving him what he wants.
Because here’s the sick truth: I really do like it.
I don’t like his cocky attitude, his carelessness, his selfishness, his playboy bullshit, but I can’t pretend like Prime isn’t fun.
And I like the job. I like feeling useful. I like doing something worthwhile, even if it’s just parking lots and office rentals, so long as it’s outside of this house, I like it a lot.
“Text me the address right now. I’ll get an Uber.”
“Dress sexy.”
He hangs up.
I groan, get out of bed, and find the most business-appropriate outfit I can, hurriedly throwing it on as I summon a car, knowing this is way outside the bounds of my job description, but unable to do anything about it.
CHAPTER 5
DEANNA
David Sorensen shakes my hand, adjusts his glasses, and gives Prime a drunken smile. “I’ll be in touch, but this—“ He strokes the fancy portfolio I gave him with all the most recent numbers and projections. “This is very impressive.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Prime drapes an arm across David’s shoulders. David is a slight man, short hair, thin-rimmed lenses, in his early forties with a very serious, no-nonsense reputation. It’s strange, seeing him a bit glassy eyed and playing grab-ass with my dickweed boss. “Quite the sight, right?”
Prime’s eyes lock on me as he says it.
Heat flushes my cheeks as David thanks him again. The pair stumble toward the waiting Uber. David disappears into the evening, Prime patting the roof of the car happily, waving as it rolls down the narrow Philly street.
“I just saved your ass,” I say as Prime saunters over. He seems miraculously sober, considering the amount of alcohol I watched him and David consume. “I want to be clear about that.”
He glances at his watch and back at me. “Huh, interesting. It’s after midnight and you haven’t turned into a pumpkin.”
“The carriage turns into the pumpkin, jerkoff.”
“Come on, princess. Let’s go celebrate.”
I get out my phone and start summoning a car. “I really can’t, you know that. I should get back home. It’s only my mom and dad back there.”
“The old farts will be fine for a while. Come on, Deanna, have you ever closed on a massive business deal like that before?”
I hesitate, thumb hanging over the order button. He’s got a point there. This Sorensen thing is the first time Prime’s actually let me approach an investor almost entirely on my own.
When I showed up a couple hours ago, David and Prime were having a great time, but I could tell there was a slight strain between them. I quickly realized David kept trying to talk shop and Prime kept steering him away, and the second I entered into the conversation it was like spraying oil on a rusty hinge. Everything began to work.
Prime entertained. He was charming and funny. While I kept to the numbers. We worked Sorensen from both angles until he all but signed on the dotted line.
“It could still fall apart,” I point out, still not hitting the button.
“But we both know it won’t. Come on, princess. One drink with your handsome boss. Don’t make me order you.”
“Only since you’re buying.” I shove my phone back into my bag, aware that this is a huge mistake. But Prime’s right, this is a good time to celebrate, and I’m still young, right? It’s not the worst thing in the world to sit down with a coworker. People do that sort of thing all the time.
Prime strolls toward a smaller spot a block down, complimenting me the whole way, going on and on about how impressed he was, how I managed all Sorensen’s questions with ease and even preempted several of his objections and worried with hard facts and solid data.
“I swear, when you showed him that price per square foot spreadsheet, my dick was like iron.”
“Please, can we not talk about your dick?”
“Probably, but that’s not fun.”
We step into a dim, much quieter pub, and find two chairs at the far end of the bar. I get wine and he gets bourbon. When our drinks arrive, he holds up his glass.