Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
“Caleb.” With my annoyance dangling on the edge of a steep cliff, it takes me a few seconds to register that Octavia is calling my name.
Only once the blacked-out SUV Jess slid into the back seat of pulls away from the curb without her fiancé in tow do I pivot to face her. My confusion doubles when I spot her standing next to a man with a seedy mustache and an ostentatious glint in his eyes.
“Caleb, this is Mr. Kell. He works for a local magazine.” When I arch a brow at her, shocked she’d want to interact with anyone in the media, let alone a man who looks like he wants to eat her for dinner even with her being half his age, she discloses the reason for her niceties. “He was advising me there are a handful of positions available within his company. It isn’t in business management, but I could work my way up the ladder if I’m willing to put in the effort.”
I give Octavia a look as if to say he doesn’t want you to work your way up anything but his wrinkly old dick before accepting Mr. Greaseballs handshake. “Nice to meet you.” The grinding of my words through my teeth undermines my greeting. “Are you here for the bride or the groom?”
“Neither.” He struggles to free his hand from my grip, and I can’t help but grin when he wiggles his fingers to make sure his hand is still operational when he finally succeeds. “Seattle Socialites runs features on local gatherings. A wedding at SoDo Park is newsworthy.”
“Really?”
Octavia stomps on my foot like Jess did in the Uber, turning my breathy chuckles into a wince of pain. “Why don’t you go enjoy a refreshing beverage with the other guests while I make sure your seat is close to the festivities?” She gives me a look, warning me to behave before ushering Mr. Kell toward the guests awaiting the wedded couple’s return.
She is only just out of earshot when Susan shouts my name from across the room. “No dallying, Mr. Henslee. I’m not paying you to stand around.”
I grumble under my breath that she can dock me the whole quarter I lost talking to Jess before joining the other workers transforming the aisle to a reception area fit for a princess.
“Anything?”
My eyes pop up from my phone’s screen to Octavia when she enters the industrial kitchen at the back of the reception area. She dumps a tray of dirty glasses into the sink before pivoting to face me. She’s exhausted, but a sense of achievement is highlighting her face. She doesn’t care that the guests have been super generous with tips. She loves the fact that she’s earning a living for herself without the gawks her last several positions awarded her.
We weren’t hated in our home state, but we were most certainly loathed.
“I can’t see anything too bad. They’ve had a handful of complaints, and they’re readership is almost in the toilet, but for the most part, they’re off the ick radar.” I twist my phone around to show her the screen. It displays the extensive search I did on Seattle Socialites while she did a final whirl around the reception area. It is close to midnight, and most of the guests are winding down in preparation for the bridal party to leave. “Did he officially offer you an interview?”
Octavia washes her sticky hands in the sink before drying them with a dish towel. “No, but he did offer to buy me a drink so we can discuss it further.”
“Tiv—”
“Don’t,” she interrupts. “I’m not stupid. I know the reason he rarely looks me in the eye, but I need a job.” I almost bite back that things aren’t that dire until she reminds me that they are. “Unless you want to dip into that inheritance you refuse to acknowledge, we must stand on our own two feet. Also, is being gawked at in admiration really that bad? I could think of far worse things than that.”
Stealing my chance to reply, she tells me she’ll be back before our one o’clock Uber booking, then hightails it out of the kitchen.
I wait a beat before joining her. I’m not going to stalk her date…
Actually, scrap that. Yes, I am.
Well, that was the plan before Kyla stops me. Her bridesmaid dress has been switched for a risky, low-neckline dress, and her makeup has been almost scrubbed free with sweat. “Four hundred, and I’ll pay for your drinks.”
“Sorry?” I query, lost but also amused by her drunken slur. I’m not surprised she’s sloshed. She and Jess have been downing drinks as if it was a race to see who got smashed first. I’m not ashamed to admit Jess can hold her liquor. Her steely stance would have you convinced she was downing water shots instead of vodka.