Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Quickly, I hop into an Uber, grimacing at the cost. I can’t afford the ride, but at the same time, it feels unseemly for Miss Millbrook to take the bus. Optics, and all that.
As the vehicle weaves through downtown Millbrook, I muse again on my troubles. What am I going to do for money? Just this morning, I bumped into the resident manager at my building, who gave me a suspicious look. Mrs. Lindemulder can sense when something is up, and I swear, she could smell my poverty from a mile away.
But I can’t do anything about that right now. At the moment, I have to focus on getting my head on straight so that I can smile and say all the right things once I’m in front of Logan Michaelson. The pageant organizers are expecting it, and I don’t want to fall down on my duties in the first week after winning my crown.
A few minutes later, I hop out of the Uber. We’re stopped in front of a mid-size corporate building just off the main strip of downtown Millbrook, and I push through the glass doors to find Ursula waiting for me. She’s a middle-aged woman with a fashionable, but very severe, look to her. Her brown hair is always scraped back into a too-tight bun, and she’s got red lipstick on that only emphasizes the hollowness of her cheeks. Rumor is that Ursula won the Miss Millbrook title some twenty years ago, although I can hardly believe it seeing that she’s not exactly a ray of light. Now, however, Ursula works on the business side of things and she’s my chaperone for this meeting with Mr. Michaelson.
She checks her watch. “You’re right on time, which means you’re late.”
I look at the clock on the wall in confusion.
“I guess a little. There was traffic.”
Ursula clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. “A true Miss Millbrook would have accounted for any hold-ups. From now on, be at least ten minutes early to every event, understood?”
I nod, biting my lip. It’ll do no good to argue, so I merely nod and put my head down as if chastened.
“Come on, let’s go,” Ursula says in an exasperated voice before clacking to the elevator doors in her high heels. “Chop chop.”
I step forward obediently, feeling about two inches tall. Ursula always does this. She’s so intimidating and exudes major boss-lady vibes. Seriously, was the woman born this way? But then the elevator doors open and we exit into a lavish reception area with cream furniture, a thick pile rug, and a wonderful view of the downtown area. The young woman working the front desk smiles at us.
“You must be Roberta Cross, the new Miss Millbrook,” she greets, her eyes lighting up as she takes in my perfectly done hair and make-up. “And you must be Miss Keen,” she burbles at Ursula. “Let me just inform Mr. Michaelson that you’re here.”
The woman presses a button on her phone, speaks softly, and then hangs up with another smile.
“This way, please.”
We’re led down a hall, and then stop before a set of imposing double doors. The wood is a beautiful shade of mahogany, and the receptionist knocks before swinging the door open.
“Here you go,” she says. “Mr. Michaelson, Miss Millbrook is here, along with her companion, Ursula Keen. Welcome, ladies.”
Then the young woman nods and steps away as we enter the office. I stop in my tracks because the space is huge and lavish. There are floor-to-ceiling windows against one entire wall, framing a perfect view of the downtown neighborhood. A seating area is cleverly positioned so that it, too, gets a great view of the city, but it’s the huge oak desk and the man who stands behind it that take my breath away. After all, I’d been envisioning an eighty-year-old wizened dude with white hair and a cane. Realistically, that’s how most billionaires look. But instead, Logan Michaelson is absolutely gorgeous.
The man is tall and enormous. Wide shoulders seem to stretch the limitations of his blue blazer, and a white shirt shows off his bronzed tan. Not only that, but he has deep black hair swept off a high forehead and insanely blue eyes that are currently twinkling at me.
“Miss Cross, Miss Keen, welcome to the Michaelson Corporation,” he intones. “Congratulations on winning the Miss Millbrook title. Um, can I get you a napkin?”
It’s then that I realize I’m almost drooling at him because he’s so gorgeous. Literally, I can feel a small pool of spit forming in my mouth, and I snap my mouth shut with horror. OMG, how did that happen?
Ursula turns to look at me as well and squeals with consternation.
“Hold on, hold on, I’ll get a paper towel,” she rushes. “I’ll be right back!”
Then, she dashes out the door in search of said paper towel as I stand there with my face flaming. Holy shit, I’ve already tanked the meeting with the handsome billionaire, and it hasn’t even started yet.