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)
“No.” Thank God.
“Did someone sext someone?” Wiggles his eyebrows.
“Not exactly.” Leaning back in my chair, I grumble unhappily. “But close enough.”
Fascinated, Hunter claps his hands in front of him. Rubs them together gleefully. “Tell me more.”
Hunter is my best friend and confidant; I know if I show him the email, he’ll keep his loud mouth shut—at least to other people—but there is no doubt in my mind he’d give me a giant rash of shit about it if the opportunity arose. Dirt on me doesn’t come along often, and this is solid roasting material.
Fuckin’ A.
I adjust my shirt collar. “Someone sent me a highly improper message through company email. Very out of line.”
I sound like a goddamn prude.
Like—my grandmother.
“Improper?” Rising to his feet, my best friend rounds the desk in two seconds flat, leaning greedily over my shoulder to see my screen. “Show me. Show me right fucking now.”
“Quit breathing down my neck.”
Excited, he ignores me. “Who was it? Show me.”
“The email is anonymous.”
“Even more fun. Let me see, let me see.”
He shoves me with his elbow—begs like a five-year-old—probably because the two of us don’t have secrets.
“This stays between us,” I warn sternly.
He nods. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
I level him with one more hard stare before cracking open my laptop and giving him room to ogle the glowing screen and the inbox displayed.
Gleefully, Hunter’s gluttonous eyes bounce back and forth just as mine had, a smirk forming on his face as he reads. I read along with him, and there’s that sentence I keep getting stuck on: I want to bang you so hard.
Jesus Christ, who even says that anymore?
Fuck. Screw. Have sex.
But bang?
Hunter practically vibrates beside me. “Well, shit, this is—”
“Appalling? I know. I’m going to have to—”
“Fucking awesome.” Standing back, Hunter lets out a howl. “Dude. How lucky are you?”
I can’t with him right now . . .
“Jesus, go sit down.”
For once, the asshole listens. Thank. God.
His hand scratches the stubble on his jaw as he walks back to his chair. Dumping his giant body into the leather seat, he crosses one leg over the other and studies me.
“You’re going to reply.” He says it casually, yet it detonates the statement in my office.
“Reply? Are you nuts? No. I’m not dignifying that with a response.”
“Why the hell not?” His voice raises an octave; an impossible feat given how deep it is. “Are you insane?”
I give my eyes a healthy roll. “Yes, O’Rourke, I’m the insane one here.”
“Yeah—you kind of are.”
“You’re crazy if you think for one second I’m going to message back an employee.” I’m hissing and I don’t care.
He has lost his damn mind. I literally just sent a company-wide memo warning people about offensive behavior; I’m not going to fucking perpetuate the behavior myself.
His hands go up in retreat. “Relax. Relax. Just hear me out for two seconds, okay?”
“You have two seconds.”
“Well. What if it’s that girl in logistics who wears that pink cardigan every Wednesday? She’s kind of cute in a ‘I have cats and no boyfriends’ way.”
“I have no clue who the fuck you’re talking about.”
“That, my friend, is your problem. You don’t spend any time on the lower floors. You have no clue who any of your employees are.”
“And I suppose you do?”
Hunter snorts. “Of course I do.”
“I know who the important ones are.” Even to my own ears, I sound like a complete asshole.
He chuckles. “You’re such a pompous windbag.”
He’s not wrong. Not even a little.
“I don’t have time to know all my employees or to respond to inappropriate emails.”
“Right, I get it.” He nods knowingly. Patronizing? I can’t tell.
“Get what?” A dull ache starts to throb behind my eyes.
“You’re afraid it’s a guy.”
Oh shit.
I hadn’t even considered that, but now he’s mentioned it, a seed of doubt pricks at my brain.
Brow pinched, I narrow my eyes at Hunter. “Are you fucking mental? That note was not written by a guy.”
“It could easily be a guy. Haven’t you ever caught an episode of Catfish? Someone could be catfishing you. That’s all I’m saying. Like, a dude. Oh.” He snaps his fingers and sits a little taller. “Could be one of your competitors trying to throw you off. Write them back, ask to see a dick pic.”
I rub my temples, willing this nightmare to end. “You can slither out of my office now.”
“Okay, okay, let’s not ask for a dick pic just yet. There’s an easy way to discover if it’s female. Read me what the drinks were again?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, hit me with them.” He makes a gesture with his hand, asking for the info.
Sighing, I scan the email and say, “Uh, three margaritas, Swedish fish shots and a beer . . . because it was free.”
“Bingo.” Hunter holds up his finger. “Total chick. No self-respecting gay man would pack on the sugar with Swedish fish shots, and women are the only ones who get free drinks. You’re in the clear, probably not a catfish situation.” He looks smug. “Although, now we’re in a whole new ballgame. Who’s the sex-acholic who wants to bang you? My money is still on pink cardigan. She seems like she’d be kinky out of the workplace.”