Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
“That bike accident cost her a lot.” Charlotte shakes her head. “She had to give up a big dream. That can’t be easy.”
It’s not easy feeling like the outsider in a conversation about a woman I spend hours with each day. I’ve learned more about Evangeline in the past three minutes than I have in the fifteen months I’ve known her.
I shoot another glance at where she is, and this time, my executive assistant locks eyes with me.
I may have spent countless hours with her in the office, but I can’t read her expression. All I do know is that I need something strong to drink right now.
My hand pops up as a waitress breezes past our table. “I need a glass of vodka.”
She stops to glance at me. “I’m not assigned to your table, sir.”
“He’s thirsty,” Randall says, chuckling softly.
“Or in a hurry to toast to our happiness,” Charlotte adds.
I dig in the inner pocket of my suit jacket and yank out my wallet. Once I have a one hundred dollar bill in my hand, I shove it at the waitress. “Get the vodka. I won’t tell if you won’t.”
She snatches the bill from me and tucks it inside her white button-down shirt into what I presume is a pretty bra judging by the glimpse of white lace I get as she tugs on the fabric to line the buttons back up. “I’ll be back in two seconds flat.”
That’s an exaggeration, but I don’t give a shit. I’ll down the drink as soon as it’s in my hand. I hope it will erase the sudden urge I feel to learn everything I can about my executive assistant.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Evie
This situation I’m stuck in is why my dad always told me to ask questions before I sign on the dotted line.
Even though Lottie didn’t literally make me sign on a dotted line when I agreed to be her maid of honor, I did decide to do it without knowing all the facts, including the big one.
My boss is the best man.
I stare at my reflection in the large mirror hanging above a trio of sinks in the washroom I’m currently hiding in.
The irony in the fact that Mr. Hunt is the best man isn’t lost on me. I consider him one of the worst men I’ve ever met, and now that he knows that I’ve labeled him as the boss from hell, he’s going to live up to that.
That is unless he fires me first.
That’s a real possibility.
He may have had a smirk on his face when he realized what I think of him, but I sense that was because he’s about to send my ass to the unemployment line without a penny in severance pay.
I’ve read my employment contract or at least the most important parts of it. I know for a fact if I say anything derogatory about Vidori or the owners of the company, they can toss me out of the door without anything more than the money I’m owed for the work I did to that point.
I try to calculate what my last pay check will add up to, but math is hard when your life is crumbling around you.
“Evie?” A soft knock at the washroom door fills the quiet space. “Are you still in there?”
I contemplate sneaking into one of the stalls so I can stand on the toilet and hide there until the restaurant closes, but eww.
“I’m here, Lottie,” I call back in a quiet tone. “I’ll be back at the table soon.”
Soon is relative. It could mean within three minutes, or in this instance, it means never.
Lottie takes my response as an invitation. The washroom door slides open a touch. “I’m coming in.”
I take another glance in the mirror. I’ve already reapplied my lipstick and ran a hand over my hair, so I’m set.
“Hey,” she calls out as soon as she sees me. “I’m sorry I blurted out in front of Reid that you called him a boss from hell. No harm, no foul, right?”
Um, wrong.
“He didn’t take offense to it,” she says in a semi-convincing tone. “He seems to be having a great time.”
Because he’s planning how he’s going to drop the gavel on my career. Mr. Hunt strikes me as the type of man who takes pleasure in other people’s pain and not in a kinky kind of way.
It’s more of a glee-when-witnessing-utter-destruction way.
“I told you he’s kind,” she rattles on, spewing nonsense. “I think he actually got a kick out of it.”
The only one getting a kick will be me when he boots my behind out of Vidori forever.
“Come back to the table,” she pleads as she checks her makeup in the mirror. “Randall ordered a bottle of champagne.”
I do like champagne, and it will lessen the blow of what’s coming my way as soon as Mr. Hunt gets me alone.