Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“Do you laugh in their face?” Jack asks.
I shake my head. “I enjoy their wasted efforts.”
Bennett chuckles.
“Have I missed something?” Fisher asks. “I feel like I’m not in on the joke.”
“Well, first, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Bennett says. “And second, it’s not a joke.”
I see Jack nudge Fisher, but he doesn’t get the hint that he’s meant to be shutting up to spare my feelings. But it’s fine. I think. It’s been a long time. I don’t need my feelings spared.
“Hammonds is Caroline Hammond’s father’s real estate agency,” I say to Fisher.
“Ohhh,” Fisher says. “Sorry, mate. I didn’t do the math.”
“It’s fine.”
“You won’t have to deal with them, will you?” Bennett asks.
I shake my head. “No, they’re just the sponsor. And anyway, I run into Mr. Hammond every now and then. He has no clue who I am.” Or maybe he does and he likes to pretend he doesn’t. I might have dated his daughter for two years but we were never officially introduced.
“Really?” Bennett asks. “You ever want to tell him?”
I think about it for a second. “No. I’d much prefer he thought I was a developer he or his firm might do business with at some point. I quite like the way he sucks up. It’s not subtle.”
“The ultimate revenge,” Fisher says, grinning.
But it doesn’t feel like revenge. There’s no satisfaction in seeing the man who made me feel two inches tall from my current vantage point. Despite dating his daughter for nearly two years, I never met him when I was younger. The closest we ever came to a face-to-face meeting was when I told his minion to fuck off after he offered me money—on Frank’s behalf—to get out of his daughter’s life.
Now, whenever I run into him, I still get a physical urge to punch the man. But it wouldn’t achieve anything. All I’d prove to him is that I’m still the boy he thought I was at eighteen. And I’m not that boy. I never was. I was better than Frank Hammond then, and I’m better than him now.
And his daughter never deserved me.
TWO
Jules
If I were a betting woman, I’d wager that for most people reeling off their top ten most life-changing films, Pretty Woman doesn’t make the cut.
In my personal top ten, it’s the only entry.
I’ve replayed the scene when Vivian describes herself as a bum magnet a thousand times. Nothing had ever resonated so hard with me. I watched that film at twenty-five and immediately ditched my on-again-off-again boyfriend/late-night booty call.
Of course, the difference between me and Vivian is that I’m not a bum magnet, I’m an asshole magnet. Show me a guy who’s too handsome for his own good, has serious commitment issues and an inability to be faithful, and there I’ll be, pawing at him like a dog desperate for a scratch behind the ears.
On the flip side, if you’re a sweet, kind, faithful guy, I’ll happily go on a couple of dates with you, but soon enough, you’ll be giving me the ick when you pull out my chair or insist on getting the check.
I’m a mess.
From what I can see, there’s no cure, so I’ve resigned myself to a life of celibacy. Sort of. Maybe celibacy isn’t the right description. I can do the sex bit. I quite like sex. But actually try and have a committed relationship? Nope. I’m officially out.
All of that should make working for Leo Hart a lot easier than it actually is.
It’s not like I’m looking for a partner, a mate, a boyfriend. I’m absolutely not. The problem is, Leo is still as attractive as he was when I first met him at the party. Still dazzling. Still easy to get sucked into his vortex of bullshit if I’m not on high alert at all times.
He doesn’t remember me. He doesn’t realize that he’s the reason I spent the day after the party on the couch watching Pretty Woman. That’s the day I came to the conclusion that until I get de-magnetized from the assholes, I’m not interested in dating.
But thank god he doesn’t recognize me. If he did, there’s no way I’d have gotten this job. And this job—as Leo’s administrative assistant—is the job I need so I can get the job I really want.
My cell buzzes in my bag. I quickly check it—it’s a message from my mom, telling me she loves me. She sends the same message every day, and has since the first day I got a phone. She knows I won’t respond at work, but she tells me anyway. Her message is a reminder to keep my eyes on the prize, since, like her, I’ve spent the last decade working in hotels. I started in housekeeping, cleaning rooms in five-star hotels, just like her. I worked my way up to become deputy housekeeper before moving to events, then reception, where I eventually headed up the team.