Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79438 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79438 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Usually, I don’t deal directly with the staff, but he upset a VIP client.
My cold stare locks on him, and once he stops on the other side of my desk, looking like a chastised kid, I continue to stare at him. The silence between us can be cut with a knife.
Luckily, I was able to salvage things, and by the time I dropped Sylvia off at her home, she was happy with how the night had gone.
I slowly suck in a deep breath before murmuring in a low tone brimming with anger, “What made you think it was okay to send your friend in your place?”
Steven nervously licks his lips. “I panicked when my car wouldn’t start, and Joseph was close to Miss Dos Santos’ apartment.” He holds a hand up to stop me from talking, which only pisses me off more. “Look, I know I screwed up. I should’ve called Harper, but I promise I will never make the mistake again.”
“You’re right,” I mutter as I turn my attention to the schedule of appointments I have to approve, “You’ll never make the mistake again because you’re fired.”
“Sir,” he groans. “Please. I need this job.”
Not looking at him, I snap. “Get out, Steven. I don’t give second chances.”
I can feel he wants to beg some more, but I continue with my work, and a minute later, he drags his feet out of my office.
I pick up the phone on my desk and dial Easton’s extension. He picks up, and before I can give the instruction, he says, “I’ll make sure he’s escorted from the building.”
“Thank you.”
Jesus, why can’t people do their job right the first time? I need more employees like Easton.
Before I hang up, I add, “Have flowers with an apology sent to Miss Dos Santos with a ten percent discount code for the next escort she requests.”
“Will do.”
Steven had a pleasant demeanor about him. That’s why I paired him with Sylvia. I hate that I had to fire him, but I can’t have my staff fucking up on appointments.
Rolling my shoulders, I get to work while doing my best to forget the unpleasantness of firing someone.
Chapter 6
Lillian
Having restored the painting to its original state, so you can’t tell a pigeon pooped all over it, I hang it back on display.
I let out a satisfied breath as I look at the art piece.
I did a good job.
Turning around, I walk to the exit of the gallery. I’m heading to a Subway that’s a couple of blocks away to order a sandwich for lunch.
Well, a late lunch. I didn’t want to take a break before finishing the painting. After I’ve eaten, I’ll get to work on the sculpture.
The sidewalks are bustling with pedestrians, and when I dart into the Subway store, I let out a breath of relief.
It’s so hot today that you wouldn’t think winter is just around the corner.
I order my usual sandwich, asking for extra pickles, and after I’ve paid, I move to the window and watch the people rushing by the store.
Everyone’s in a hurry to get somewhere.
It only takes a few minutes before I get my sandwich, and as I walk back to the gallery, I glance around at the other people. Everyone looks depressed that it’s Monday and there’s a whole week of work ahead.
Suddenly, my eyes lock on Denise and then Beverly. They’re on the opposite side of the street, their arms filled with shopping bags.
There’s a sharp ache in my chest, and I stop walking for a moment, my gaze following them.
They’re smiling and clearly happy about something.
When I spoke to Denise on Saturday night, she didn’t mention anything about the outing. Beverly still hasn’t replied to my messages.
The ache grows, and it’s joined by a sense of loss and loneliness.
I’m so done with them. It’s crystal clear they don’t view me as a friend.
Shaking my head, I continue to walk back to the gallery while trying to process all the negative emotions that seeing them stirred in me.
It hurts that I mean so little to them.
Denise will probably send me an invitation out of obligation.
Will I go to her birthday party?
It will only add to the heartache.
I let out a sigh, and stepping into the gallery, I head down to the basement.
I place the uneaten sandwich on my desk and sit down on the stool. Staring at the floor, I think about the birthday party.
What’s the use of going?
I’m sick and tired of feeling like this.
Forgettable.
Meaningless.
I shake my head again and close my eyes as another wave of heartache hits. This time, it’s joined by anger.
I’m so over everything. This is not the life I wanted for myself – groveling for a bit of attention from the people who are important to me.
Just once, I’d like to feel like a priority to someone.