Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86828 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Oh… I’m not moving.”
When he peers past my shoulder, I follow the direction of his gaze. Barring basic pieces of furniture that could only fill a dorm room, my apartment is almost empty.
I roll my shoulders before shrugging them. “A change is as good as a vacation.”
“That it is.” When the courier wets his lips as his eyes rake my body, a spark of interest darts through his hooded gaze. “Did you want to go out for some eggnog sometime?”
“Oh… um… I’m taken.” I have no idea where those last two words came from. They didn’t even ruminate in my head before my mouth spoke them.
“You are?” the courier asks. His lower lip droops.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
You’re a lying poo-poo face.
Only two days ago, the courier’s dark features, light eyes, and bad-boy persona would have ticked every one of my boxes. Now, they’re barely creating a hum.
Zane ruined me.
He completely and utterly destroyed me.
I’d be upset if my foolish heart wasn’t still believing there’s a possibility of round two.
It’s late Sunday afternoon, and Zane has not realized my details are accessible in his Uber app.
That can only mean one thing.
He doesn’t want to find me.
Damn it.
“All right.” The driver waits until he has regained my focus before handing me a business card. “If you change your mind, my cell phone number is on there.”
I accept the card he’s holding out. “Thanks.”
It feels good to walk him to the door with enough confidence to convince myself I could go it alone if needed. I haven’t felt like this for a long time.
Every year that ticked closer to my thirties convinced me more and more that I had to settle. That anything was better than nothing.
I don’t feel that way anymore.
I spoke to a separation attorney yesterday. She’s confident I have a solid case to demand the right to buy Peter out of his mortgage, and even though I’m meant to be on vacation, my request to return to work was approved in writing earlier today.
Life is good.
Until it isn’t.
“What do you mean I’m fired? I am the best analyst this company has. I’ve brought in millions of dollars.”
“And lost us millions too.” I shoot my eyes to Rochelle, the supervisor of my division. She looks down her nose at me as she says, “TreadWall—”
“Was Peter’s decision. I advised him against purchasing additional stock. The CEO was on the verge of a meltdown. He wanted blood. I wrote that in my report.”
“In a report that was never logged with the department before you left for vacation.” Mr. Black, the money behind this operation, stands from his chair to join Rochelle and me on the other side of his big, overcompensating desk. “Everyone got sloppy, and millions were shaved off my company’s assets the past weekend alone.”
“Peter—”
“Has agreed to a voluntary redundancy from the Ravenshoe division. His partnership will be paid out by Christmas Eve, and he’ll helm the less profitable Oregon chapter for the foreseeable future.”
Mr. Black makes it seem as if Peter’s share of the partnership is a pittance. Paying out the one-point-five-million-dollar stake I helped Peter achieve in his company may be small for him, but it will give Peter the capital he needs to start the firm I’ve been endeavoring to get off the ground in the past two years.
We won’t mention the two point eight million he’s requesting for me to buy out his share of our apartment. He’s trying to put potential future value on the valuation the real estate broker quoted earlier this morning.
When it dawns on me that my fate has been decided, I ask, “And me? What do I get?”
It won’t be a share of Peter’s cut, because as far as Rochelle and Mr. Black are concerned, we’re not a couple. Peter wanted to keep our relationship strictly business during office hours.
Now I know why.
Rochelle’s voice doesn’t house an ounce of remorse. “Your unused vacation days will be included in your final pay.”
That’s it?
That’s all I get for seven years and one hundred and thirty-eight million dollars in profit?
“Okay.” I have a million more words in my head but no way of expressing them without screaming like a lunatic. I need to keep my cool if I want to secure another job in the financial sector. “I’ll pack my things now.”
“Things?” Rochelle asks, conscious everything in and on my desk belongs to Black Industries.
Almost everything, I mentally correct.
“I have a photograph of my parents on my desk.” I smile when I remember how long ago the Polaroid image was taken. It was the year my parents met, snapped during the annual Christmas tree lighting in my mother’s hometown.
Thousands of lights illuminating the Christmas tree bounce off my mother’s dark locks, but they have nothing on the sparkle of love in her eyes.
My parents aren’t ashamed to admit it was love at first sight. They have no reason to feel shame. They’ve been inseparable since they met.