Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“Where he just happened to mention an extremely generous clothing allowance so you can purchase a raunchy little number.” I air quote my last three words, my anger picking up. “Did he have any suggestions on what you could spend your allowance on while chatting in your office?”
“We weren’t chatting—”
I continue talking as if she never spoke. “Or perhaps he planned that for a later date? Say at another location, such as one of the many boutiques he supposedly owns.”
I have no clue why I’m angry. None whatsoever. But there’s no denying it. My cheeks are red, my hands are balled, and I’m two seconds from marching to Elaine and telling her to shove my new position where the sun doesn’t shine.
The only reason I don’t is Jess’s not-so-kind reminder that Jack isn’t in the wrong here. “You fled from him, Tivy, so he’s merely giving you the space you expressed you desperately wanted.”
“I didn’t run. I… I…”
I’ve got nothing.
I ran because I was scared.
I don’t want to be bought. Tossing money at someone won’t smooth volatile waters. Most of the time it makes matters worse. It most certainly did for my family.
Gracie attempts to suffocate my mood back to a manageable level with a ton of attitude. “I don’t know what has your panties in a twist, Tivy, but you need to get over yourself. Mr. Carson has great concepts for this sinking disaster, and I, for one, am ready to follow him into the masses to achieve his vision.”
Don’t let her tone fool you. She means Jack’s bedroom, not to the bible belt to beat the nonsense out of Seattle Socialites.
When Gracie storms off in a huff, Jess reminds me that anger is not a required emotion. “She would have been lining up for unemployment at nine this morning if you hadn’t met Jack. He’s only endeavoring to keep us afloat because of you, Tivy. Remember that before you chew him a new asshole for trying to be the nice guy.” She rubs my arm, more to dig her nails into my skin than in comfort, but it is an arm rub, nonetheless. “The nice guy doesn’t always have to come last… except in the bedroom.” After a smile that’s more pleading than menacing, she exits the break room and returns to her cubicle.
I nurse my half-empty coffee mug for a few more minutes before rinsing it and placing it on the drying rack. Although I’d love to call it a day, my tardiness this morning won’t allow it, much less a position I’m not qualified to hold. I have dozens of employee contracts to go over and a bucketload of guilt for the way I reacted to Gracie’s news she had a private one-on-one meeting with Jack.
In a way, my annoyance is understandable. Every meeting Jack and I held this morning was done together, then I went and screwed it up by acting like a lunatic with a nice-guy complex.
Ugh. Why is this so damn hard?
Almost four hours later, my attitude has somewhat improved, and I’ve gotten a ton of work done. I shouldn’t have reacted to Jack the way I did at the boutique, but if you understood my family dynamic, you’d have a better understanding about my adversity of being bought, but since I’m being eyeballed by the very man I wrongly took my anger out on, I’ll have to save that story for another day.
Jack is standing in the doorway of the conference room. His suit jacket has been removed, his tie is unknotted, and the top button of his dress shirt is undone. He looks delicious but as exhausted as me.
It has me wondering if the past couple of hours were as hard on him as they were me, but before I can ask, he says, “Are you ready?” His voice is not as rich and commanding as it was earlier.
I drop my pen onto a stack of papers. “For?”
He peers at me, puzzled for a couple of seconds before replying, “For me to drive you home. We organized it in the elevator this morning.”
My heart whacks my ribs, but I play it cool. “I don’t need—”
“Please let me do this, Octavia. Let me know you at least got home safe.” He lowers his volume so dramatically I barely hear what he says next, “It may be the only way I’ll get any sleep tonight.”
The gut-wrenching torment in his voice has me rushing for the coat he gifted me before a single objection can fire through my head.
“Thank you,” I murmur when he pulls the collar out from underneath the thick wool and tugs it up around my neck to keep me warm. The rain this morning brought on a cold front, and any Jersey girl would struggle to act nonchalantly to the brisk winds whipping off the coastline.