Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
But with my new job, I can make it right. I just have to last four years.
“Are sure you’re all right, honey?” My mom tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, just like Aiden Adalwulf did earlier today. I force my grimace from my face.
“Of course. Just hungry. I worked through lunch today.”
“Oh, we can’t have that. I’ll call your boss, tell her it’s illegal not to give you a break.”
“My boss is a him now. I got a promotion.” I imagine her dialing Blackthroat and scolding him and shudder. That would get me fired for sure.
“That’s wonderful! We have to celebrate.” She bends to close down her computer and links her arm with mine. “Brayden’s first week of school and your promotion. I knew you’d knock their socks off.”
“Mmmm.” We head out of the ivy covered office building to the staff parking lot. I’m climbing into my mom’s faded Prius when I spot Forbes the frat boy. He zooms by in a red Range Rover, blasting trap music, eyes half on the road and half on his phone. He seems to have shaken off his disappointment about his failing grade.
In the morning, my mom will get a call from his father accusing her of misunderstanding his son’s genius. Forbes will get a pass. And when he grows up, he’ll get a VP position at the Fortune 500 company founded by his grandfather and an assistant who holds his whole world together and puts out the fires he starts.
An assistant like me.
Was Brick Blackthroat ever an entitled teen, slouching around a private campus in a nondescript t-shirt and hoodie that cost more than my mom’s car? I try to imagine him here, goofing off with his frat bros, and I can’t. He’s too focused, too competitive. All the privilege in the world isn’t enough if you’re driven to be the best. You can cut corners and fake it to the world, but deep down, you know.
Blackthroat won’t settle for less than the top prize in anything. School, sport, or now capitalism–it’s all a game he plays to win. He holds himself, and his college-buds-turned-executives, to the highest standards. No whining, no excuses. He wouldn’t slink into his professor’s office to ask for an extension. He’d study all night, ace the quiz, and ask for more work.
I can relate.
Maybe that’s why I haven’t hated every minute of my time at Moon Co. It's a challenge, and I love a challenge. It’s a no BS, high stakes culture molded by the drive for ultimate success. If I survive, I could thrive.
I don’t know what's more unsettling: the fact that I might be a fit for Moon Co. or that deep down, Brick Blackthroat is like me.
Chapter Ten
Madi
A week later, I strut into work in a new dress and heels. Over the weekend, Aubrey and I went to a boutique I’ve always loved and bought a sexy new outfit to celebrate surviving my first week. My salary is six figures, plus a bump in pay after the probationary period.
If I last.
I’m working hard to decode everything that makes up Brick Blackthroat. He has two main expressions: a surly glare and a disgusted glower. He gets irritated by all interruptions and interacting with anyone but his executive team (including or especially me). For that reason, he appreciates when I’m direct. He doesn’t have time or attention span for beating around the bush. I credit my success with my job negotiations to being direct. It was easier for him to agree and get rid of me since my requests made sense.
Other than the water bottle incident, which we have both apparently decided to never mention, we have a decent working relationship. He definitely doesn’t like to take or return phone calls, so I’m working on trying to get more information out of people when they call to see if I can deal with them myself or redirect them to someone else at Moon Co.
Mr. Blackthroat exits the elevator, and I get up from my desk and come around to thrust the most pressing phone messages at him. “Mr. Benson’s assistant tried to cancel your one to one, so Benson Senior could make tee time, but I got the country club to book a private room for him to give you fifteen minutes. I also have an update on the Adirondack land–”
Blackthroat stops and pivots, ignoring the phone messages I’m trying to thrust at him. He glares at my new dress. Specifically, at the cutout of my chest. It’s one of the peek-a-boo dresses that shows a little skin. Tasteful, but flirtatious. That’s what the saleswoman said, anyway.
Blackthroat looks like the sight, or rather hint, of my cleavage absolutely disgusts him. “What is this?” He waves a hand over my chest.
“Excuse me?” I keep my voice polite but firm.