Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
It’s not that I’m ugly or anything, I just purposely don’t make myself look amazing so that I can get on with my job without the appraising eyes of others. I respect women who can look sexy and work but I don’t have the balls to put up with judgmental people. I just want to keep myself to myself and do what I do best. Be invisible and work hard.
Besides, I’d never sleep with Mr. C. Sure, he is gorgeous, but he’s clearly married, he’s faithful to his wife, and lastly, I don’t need that kind of situation messing up my schedule. Everything in my life has a place and Mr. C has his place with his wife and child and as my boss.
I’m happy doing what I do. I get to travel. I get my own vehicle. I get excellent perks doing what I do. I would never fuck that up by fucking my boss.
Also… he’s like so old.
He’s thirty-seven. That’s a whopping thirteen years and five months older than me. Gross.
Still, I can’t deny that I like staring at his back sometimes. He’s got really nice shoulders.
Le sigh.
I head upstairs, clutching the binders and files tight to my chest. My phone starts ringing in my pocket and with a bit of shuffling I manage to answer it and squeeze it between my shoulder and ear.
“Rose Sinclair, how may I help you?”
“Dude, please tell me you’re not gonna bail on Saturday. You haven’t been answering my messages.”
I laugh, happy to hear my closest friend and anxious, also OCD-crazed woman called Laurie. We met during group therapy sessions as teens to help us deal with our abandonment issues and anxieties. She’s quirkier than I am in all the best ways. She has mild Tourette’s too and her favorite thing to say around me is, “Mrs. Cuntyflaps.” Referring to my boss’ wife.
It’s not that we don’t like Mrs. Conti, she’s a… erm… pleasant enough woman. She’s just a bit cold and impersonal with her staff. She expects perfection and the way she speaks to us when she doesn’t get it is shocking to say the least. She uses the words idiot and moron a lot.
Mr. C dotes on her though. Forever sending her gifts and touching her when they’re around. It’s sweet. She’s entirely different with him than she is with her staff, from what I’ve seen in the open anyway.
“My hands are full. I’ll be there, I promise. Just no blind dates, I will kill you.” I’ve never been into dating; guys just mess up my schedule and take up all of my free time.
“I swear it. This Saturday is all about you and me, baby. FUCK A LIGHTSWITCH.”
I snicker at her twitch.
“THE LAMPSHADE IS ALWAYS WATCHING YOU!”
“Have you been shopping for home stuff?”
“Yeah, I forgot my meds this morning and didn’t have time to do my exercises. I’m a bit jerky. BEEF JERKY UP YOUR BUM!”
I laugh so hard I almost drop the things I’m holding. “Gotta go. Love you, babe.”
“Love you more,” she replies just as I use my foot to press down the handle to Mr. C’s office. The door clicks open.
I announce, “It’s only me.”
“There you are, right on time as always,” Mr. C declares, sounding his normal disinterested self. He has yet to get mad at me personally to be honest which is a relief. I’ve seen him mad at others and it wasn’t fun. He’s super intimidating.
He rounds his desk to help me with my load, smoothing his thick, shiny, dark brown hair back with a large hand. A smile is fixed on his face, showing white teeth behind pink lips and cleanly shaven cheeks.
He smells citrussy. He’s been using the aftershave I helped his daughter pick for his birthday back in March. It’s so good.
“Everything on track?”
“Ahead of schedule as always, Mr. C,” I reply happily. “Is there anything else I can help with?”
He wanted me to call him Ezra, but I just can’t, especially since his wife wants me to refer to her as Mrs. Conti at all times. It would have been weird being so personal with him and not with her. I don’t mind. But still, we came to an agreement that I’d call him Mr. C. A happy medium for both of us.
“Nothing that comes to mind. I appreciate you bringing these out here,” he comments, forever gracious. He’s the opposite of his wife, he treats his staff with respect and kindness… when we’re doing our jobs right anyway. Though he still doesn’t get familiar. In the six months we’ve worked and travelled together, we’ve eaten in the same space only a handful of times and even then he was looking at his phone or laptop. I can’t remember us ever having much of a conversation. “How long have we been working together now?”