Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
I’m still not seeing an issue, although something seems off. Butterflies are fluttering in my stomach. That usually only happens when my intuition is warning me to be cautious—or when I’m horny.
Since that side of my brain has only led me to trouble lately, I ask, “Are there any other vacancies needing fulfillment?” When Marcell sighs, I add, “I’m not saying no. I am merely keeping my options open.”
“Oh…” Ruffling sounds down the line. “There’s a tattoo artist vacancy in Durando or…”—more flicking—“a live-in maid’s position at a—”
“I can’t draw, and the only time I wrangle fitted sheets is when I’m being thoroughly fuc—” I stop before I’m forced to find another employment agency to represent me. “I’m not maid material.” When Marcell hums in agreement, I breathe out slowly. “So I guess I’ll keep my fingers crossed for a good result this afternoon.”
She sounds more relieved than shocked. “Wonderful. I’m sure you will do great. This job sounds right up your alley.” She has the kind of tone that makes you believe criticisms are compliments. “I’ll text you the address so you won’t have to scroll through the app to find it, and I’ll give you a call tomorrow morning to see how it went.”
“Great. Thanks.”
Her enthusiasm would usually rub off on me. I’m not feeling it today. It feels like a storm is brewing, but there isn’t a single cloud in the sky.
I’m going to pretend it is because you can’t experience a rainbow without first enduring the storm, because if I were to share the real reason for the sweat skating across my skin, you’d call me a whore.
“We have two guys on the door every night. Three bouncers backstage, and the bartenders have been trained in dispute resolution.” Lilia, the person interviewing me for a position at Le Roque, twists to face me. “I won’t lie. It is a little rowdy on the weekends, and although most of the patrons’ focus should be on the dancers”—she pushes her glasses up her slim nose as her eyes rake my body—“you may get an equal amount of attention. Are you sure you want to apply for the bookkeeping position? You could make a killing as a dancer.”
“I’m sure.” My tone is as unconvincing as the one my third building supervisor in the past two months used when he arrived to fix my landline phone.
I have no clue where Luka went. He up and vanished as fast as Mr. Fakher. But Mr. Hernandez was extremely obliging. He even assisted me with a leaking pipe in the bathroom, and not once did he ogle my booty shorts while doing so.
“Okay.” Lilia smiles sweetly before asking, “So what do you think? Would you like to join the Le Rogue family?”
Recalling how minimal the job classifications were this morning, I accept the hand she is holding out, without a single snippet of hesitation.
“Great! Let’s get you signed up.”
Before she can race away, I snatch up her arm. I hate asking for favors so soon into a budding work relationship, but I don’t have much choice. My baby sister is getting married, and I refuse to miss out on that part of her life for anything or anyone.
“Is there a chance I could request a small favor?”
Lilia pats my arm, saving herself from a dreaded my-life-sucks grumble. “Of course. But I’m sure whatever you need will be fine. For the right team member, I can make a V look like a U.”
I smile in gratitude before following her into her office for my first official placement in over a year.
33
ZOYA
“Don’t.” Nikita cups the single candle in the middle of a cake that looks like a disaster but tastes divine before finalizing her reply. “If you start, I’ll start.”
“I’m not starting anything.” I roll my eyes like the sudden movement won’t cause the wetness brimming in them to spill over.
I blow out the candle before Nikita and Gigi are halfway through singing “Happy Birthday.”
Even Grampies gets in on the act. His lyrics aren’t as clear as his counterparts’, but the sparkle in his eyes when he tells me to make a wish as I commence cutting a cake big enough to share with a hundred make up for his lack of singing skills.
“If you touch the bottom, you have to kiss the closest boy.”
My laugh is as husky as his words when he puckers his lips. They’re cracked from his breathing mask stealing all the moisture from his mouth, but they’re the only pair on offer, so I jab the knife in deep before leaning over his hospital bed to let him give me a sloppy birthday kiss.
“Happy birthday, Cheeky Chops,” he whispers in my ear before pulling me in for a hug.
“Thank you, Grampies.” I wipe my hand across my cheeks to ensure they’re dry before twisting to face the woman responsible for the first bit of happy wetness on my cheeks in months. “Where did you find mедови́к in Myasnikov? I’ve been searching for it for years.”