Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
I’m not hating for what the genetic roulette wheel bestowed upon them, I just wish I didn’t feel so bad about me when I compare myself to what feels like everyone else in Manhattan.
“Chastity. Come on.” Sasha’s losing her patience, as she does often with me. She lives life at hyper speed. “How did you tie the whole flock of birds idea with the client logo and tagline?”
In a daze, I continue staring at my reflection while I ramble on autopilot. A part of me argues that it’s unfair for me to compare myself to her. After all, comparison is the thief of joy as they say. I mean, before Sasha ventured into marketing, she modeled in Paris. I should be grateful she lets me tag along when the office group goes out after work.
Her eyes widen as I explain my idea. A smile lights her perfectly-painted red lips.
“Yes! That’s it. Amazing. Well done. It’s going to be another win for our team. You know, it’s a team effort.”
She squeezes my upper arms and makes a little kissy sound with her lips. The thinly veiled condescension is not lost on me. I may be a nineteen year old from West Virginia, but I’m not stupid.
“I’m going to shoot a quick e-mail to the boss, outlining the concept. He was just asking if we could have something together for tomorrow. Don’t want to let the team down,” she finishes on a tight smile, already tapping on her phone, then she adds, “I think it’s your turn to grab the next round. Me and the M-twins are going to go out back for a smoke so meet you back at the table.”
I should be mad at her for telling me it’s my turn to buy the next round. She knows I’m broke. Working as an intern pays…yeah, basically nothing, and if it wasn’t for the help of my father paying my rent and a small allowance for the three months I’ll be here, I’d be living in a cardboard box under the RFK bridge.
But instead of fighting off an anxiety attack about paying for drinks, the skin on my arms sizzles and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
I have a reason to go back to the bar.
“Sure thing,” I chirp, watching Sasha saunter back into the crowd as I chew on the inside of my lower lip following her out of the corridor.
I inhale for courage and walk toward the bar. My gaze shifts to where I see him standing, head and shoulders above the surrounding mortals. Jack was not crafted by God to blend in.
My stomach flutters and another gush of heat dampens my underwear.
He’s not alone anymore. He’s standing with a group. Four men in expensive-looking suits, acting like friends. And five women who look like socialites.
Except…
Two of the women are stuck to the sides of one man, and the other three are glued to another.
Hanging out with Sasha has taught me a lot—one of those things being the ability to spot a prostitute at these high-end clubs. If I went by Sasha’s list, these women tick every box.
They are dressed to the nines. They have seductive smiles on their faces at all times, their hands never straying from their dates. Truthfully, I don’t begrudge the women for what they do. If you want to sell your services for a living, I don’t really care.
What bothers me is Jack is talking with the group of them. Heartache churns inside me and the inevitable acid rises in my throat, stinging my tongue.
I’ve only just met the man. I don’t even know his last name.
Engulfed with the crippling need to become invisible and disintegrate into the floor, I spin towards the exit. My little dream of him searching for me through the crowd pops like a bubble over my head.
Jealousy rages through me, coating my tongue with an unsavory metallic taste, then I realize I’m biting the inside of my lip until it bleeds. I bolt to our table, grab my bag from under my chair. I keep my diary inside in an inner zipped pocket and I know there will be a woeful entry I’ll be writing later tonight.
I head toward the door, sliding through the crowd and gasping for air.
What the hell’s wrong with me? I’m not like this. Why do I care what a stranger does with other women?
I shove the doors open, gulping in a lungful of semi-fresh night air as I fish my phone out of my bag, tapping the screen as I press my back into the brick wall and try to disappear. I know Sasha will be pissed I left but I’ll deal with her wrath on Monday.
I finish messaging for my ride then I wring my hands as I wait, trying to forget what it felt like to touch him. A few quick words, a handshake, and stupid me, something deep down thought he could be the one.