Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 160684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 803(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160684 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 803(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Maybe that way she wouldn’t keep losing her notes. She’d written a note with her computer password on it, and she couldn’t for the life of her find it. She’d had to change the password.
“Do it,” he told her.
“W-what?”
“Do it.”
“But that’s not just furnishings. It’s touching the walls.”
“Effie, I don’t like to repeat myself. Do. It.”
“Got it,” she whispered, excitement bubbling inside her. “Thanks, Steele.”
“Damn. Cute.”
“Sorry?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
She frowned, unsure what was going on with him. “Did you need something?”
“New girl that started, she all set up?”
“Um, yes.” At least on her end. She’d seen her on stage and she was a good dancer, if a bit uninspired.
But that had nothing to do with Effie. Not unless she asked for her help like Cilla.
“Good.”
“Yep. Good.” She still had no idea what was happening. What did he want? Was he checking up on her? Oh my God. Did he not think she was doing a good job? What could she do better? She was trying as hard as she could not to get lost in her head. To focus. But there were times she went into la-la land. However, she always got here early and worked late to make up for any time that she daydreamed.
“Effie? You listening?”
“I promise I’ll do better!”
He rocked back slightly, eyeing her with confusion. “Do what better, Spitfire?”
“Um, whatever it was you were going to tell me that I wasn’t doing good enough?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You thought I was coming in here to tell you that you weren’t doing something well?”
“That’s not why you’re here?”
“No, babe,” he told her gently. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Oh. That’s good then. So I’m doing a good job?”
“Now you’re just fishing for compliments.”
She totally was. But did that mean she wasn’t going to get them? That was disappointing.
“Your landlord get that security light installed at your place?” he moved forward to open the container on her desk and drew out a piece of brownie.
“Um, yes.” Technically, she’d done it. But he didn’t need to know that.
“Good. You buy this?”
“Uh, no. I made it.”
He took a bite. “Damn. That’s good.”
A flush of pleasure filled her. “Thank you.”
His lips twitched. “Happy now?”
“What?”
“You got your compliment.”
Shoot. So she had.
“Anything you need to tell me?” he asked.
Uh. Was there? She didn’t think so. She searched through her brain. He didn’t need to know that she’d gotten a couple of weird phone calls. From numbers with no caller IDs who’d just hung up.
Or that her period had started yesterday and the cramps were killing her.
Or that she’d eaten way too many jelly beans last night and given herself a tummy ache and a blue tongue. Since the blue and white ones were her favorites.
Or that her neighbor had a party last night and kept her awake. And that he’d been doing that nearly every night this last week and she was on her last nerve.
“Spitfire,” he said firmly.
“Uh, yep.”
“I can see I might need to come in and ask that more often.”
“Huh?”
“Not sure of everything that’s going on in your head, but is there a reason why you told Raul that he didn’t need to keep picking you up for work?”
Oh. That’s why he was here.
She shouldn’t feel a hit of disappointment that he wasn’t here just to see her. Nope. Because that would be silly.
Which she often was. Because she was forever hopeful. Which, given her life and the way things constantly went to shit, was extremely silly.
But here she was . . . being silly once more.
Silly and hopeful.
“It’s a waste of time for him.”
“Waste of time?”
“Yes, I can get myself to work. I don’t need him to take me. So I told him that.”
“He’s picking you up for work, Spitfire.”
“Really, it’s not necessary.” She gave him a big smile to ensure he knew she wasn’t actually arguing with him.
He leaned his hands down on the desk and she had to fight hard not to lean back.
“Yeah, he is.”
“I’m in charge of how I get into work, and I say he’s not.”
Shoot. What was she doing?
He’s your boss.
“You work for me?” he asked weirdly.
“Uh, yes.”
“Then you do what I say. If I say he picks you up, then he picks you up. Understand?”
“All right.” She gave in because he was her boss and she didn’t want to make him angry.
“All right?” he asked, looking surprised.
“Yes, all right,” she said.
But she wasn’t happy about it. So when Steele went to reach for another piece of brownie, she leaned over and snatched the container away from him.
He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t get more brownie?”
“Nope.”
Effie braced herself for anger because this wasn’t a very nice thing to do. And Effie was always pleasant. Always good. Always bright and happy and cheerful.
Just like Nan taught her.
Except, apparently, when Damon Steele grew bossy with her. Which seemed to happen every time she saw him.