Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
How the hell did I miss that?
“Oh dear God, it looks like I fell asleep in a dumpster.”
Cringing to the side, trying to shield her eyes from the hot mess in front of her, Gen says, “You’ve had better days, that’s for sure.”
“What do I do?”
“Burn that dress, first of all. I mean, where the hell did you find it?”
“I don’t have anything else to wear, Gen.”
Sizing me up, she taps her chin with her index finger, finally able to fully look at me, a look of disgust written all over her face.
“Okay, well, I say for starters, we remove last night’s fake eyelash.” She plucks one from my forehead and tosses it in the trash. Eyes wide, I run my fingers along the skin there. “Then I think we go the whole True Lies route.”
“True Lies route? What are you talking about?”
“You know, when Jamie Lee Curtis’s character rips her dress to make it sexier and then throws a vase of water over her head to slick back her hair. Worked for her, might work for you.”
Counting to ten and exhaling, I say, “That was a movie, and that dress was supposed to rip perfectly. This thing is made out of trench coat material, so we’ll need scissors to make it decent.”
Gen nods. “Yeah, I see what you’re saying. At least roll up the sleeves, douse your head in water, and do a tight bun at the top of your head. And for the love of God, wash your damn face.”
Starting thirty off with a bang.
It takes another ten minutes to make me look somewhat presentable before we’re both walking back to my cubicle, still drawing attention from coworkers. As if I’m on a parade float, I kindly nod and wave to those who choose to stare.
Eat your hearts out. I won’t be here for much longer.
Plopping into my chair, I fire up my computer and let out a labored breath. “That was a close one.” I halfheartedly laugh, looking around one more time to make sure the coast is clear. “Why are you still here? Don’t you have work to do?”
Looking guilty as hell, Gen says, “Uh, do you happen to remember anything from last night?”
I shake my pounding head and take a sip of the coffee Gen gave me . . . needing a refill stat.
I think it’s best that we all forget about last night . . . and this morning.
When my computer screen comes to life, I type in my password and open my email, thirty new ones popping up immediately. Ugh, can’t a girl catch a break?
I casually look through the emails, not really paying attention to any of them as I talk. “Did I say something stupid to Kimberly? It’s not my fault she has a stick up her ass most of the time.”
I continue to scan through the emails, one from Rome catching my attention. Oh goody! A memo.
When he sends those, they’re usually juicy and full of pent-up tension.
What kind of tension do we have in store for us today?
Mentally twiddles fingers.
“No, you didn’t offend Kimberly.”
I point to the screen, ignoring Gen. “Did you read this one? It’s a memo from Rome, the big boss man himself.”
She blushes. “Uh yeah, about that.”
Last memo we got was about using copy machines for business . . . not pleasure.
God, that was great. All the copy machines had to be washed down by a professional cleaning service due to high concern for sexual germs on the buttons.
“We should read it.” I hope it’s about someone being caught for doing something massively inappropriate.
“Peyton, wait.”
“What?” I turn to face Gen who’s had a permanent cringe on her face since she greeted me. Growing concerned, I ask, “What’s going on?”
She twists her hands together and says, “Remember how we were drunk?”
“Yeah, the pounding in my head hasn’t let me forget that one.” I tap on my skull.
“Do you happen to remember confessing your undying lust for . . .” Her voice trails off and with a guilty look, she leans forward, whispers quietly, “For Rome?”
Say what now?
Undying lust for Rome?
I would never.
I might have been drunk, but I wasn’t that—
My eyes widen, mouth goes dry, a sinking feeling of dread taking root in the pit of my stomach.
Swedish fish shots.
Lots of them.
Three margaritas.
Beer.
Manhunting.
Rome at the bar in a suit.
His darkened gaze skipping over me.
Irritation and desperation consuming me.
Confessing about my crush . . . typing out that email on Gen’s iPad . . .
HOLY SHIT. THE EMAIL.
“Oh my hell.” I grip my head and spin back to my computer opening the memo immediately, clicking rapidly on my mouse until the damn thing pops up on my screen ten times. Multiplying with each click. “Stop it,” I yell at the computer as the final one pops up.
I scan the contents of the memo, as my heart beats out of my chest.