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)
I stand my ground, nervously. “Say please.”
Rome glares. Flares his nostrils. “Please.”
I scurry through the door like a rat, feeling phony—all false bravado and twisted nerves.
My heart has never beat so erratically, and my nipples never been this puckered. I’m scared, I’m nervous. I have no clue what to expect.
The door slams and Rome stomps to the front of his desk, leaning against the wooden top. Hands behind him, I notice that his knuckles are white from the firm grip on his desk.
“Why? Why did you do it?” His head is tilted down, but his eyes are blazing a hole right through my chest. “Tell me. I have a right to know.”
Wow. He’s not wasting any time.
My hands tangle together as tight as the knotted nerves in my tummy. This Rome in front of me? I’m not used to him. I’m used to pissed-off-boss Rome, who’s demanding and insistent because he’s a perfectionist. Wants everything done right the first time. Demands respect and commands a room.
This Rome is different. He’s vulnerable and unsure and guarded because he looks . . . a little bit hurt, actually. Which is weird.
Like he took the whole thing personally.
Because it was personal.
But I never meant to hurt him or humiliate him.
I owe him an explanation—it’s just having a hard time forming on my lips.
“I . . .” I clear my throat. “It was at my birthday and . . . I was drunk. Really drunk, like I wrote in the email—more drunk than I’ve been in a while.”
I’m a lightweight; ask anyone.
“So you decided to prey on me while intoxicated?”
“Prey on you?” I’m surprised. That’s what he thinks? “No. I wasn’t preying on you—not at all. It’s just . . .”
I let out a long, ragged breath and take a step forward, farther into his dungeon of his office. Its walls are a darker gray than the common area behind me, dark desk and silver finishing. Masculine and hard. Like him.
“It was my birthday. We actually saw you at the bar that night, and the whole thing was a blur, but there you were.”
“I don’t go to bars.” He doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s close.
“Yeah, you did. The night of my birthday, we saw you. You were alone, but it looked like you were waiting for someone who never showed up. You had one drink and then got up to leave.”
I exhale, unclenching my fingers. “You never even looked in my direction—just like every other day here in the office—and it was so disappointing. And I would have come over, but it really did look like you were meeting someone, and I didn’t want to interrupt. Then my ridiculous friends hid from you, ducking down in the booth, and it was too much for me to handle with all the alcohol I’d had.” I can’t believe I’m admitting this out loud. “All I wanted was a little bit of your attention.”
My voice is unexpectedly small, and I hate it.
Rome seizes the calm as an opportunity to study me, strong jaw moving back and forth as he considers my confession.
I can’t stand the fact that he’s not saying anything—I never could, and crack within seconds.
“You never looked over at me. And when you left, in a drunken stupor, I admitted to my friends that I had a secret crush on you.” My hands are now gesturing, animated while I tell my story. Spill my guts. “Gen got this crazy idea to create a fake email address and had her tablet in her purse because she’s always—”
Rome cuts me off. “Genevieve Porter in IT?”
Like an idiot, I nod.
He pushes off his desk and rounds the corner. “She’s fired.”
His long arm extends, fingers reaching for the phone cradled on his desk.
Holy shit.
“Rome! Please, no.” Oh my God, he cannot fire my best friend.
Tears are already welling in my eyes, panic racing in circles around the middle of my gut. Gen cannot be fired. Why did I just say her name? Why? I’m so, so stupid.
“Please, Rome. Please don’t fire her,” I beg again, voice strangled from the tears. My hand holds his down as it grasps the telephone.
He is unflinching as he begins ticking off Gen’s offenses. “She created a company email account for personal use, on company property. Used that same company property for personal gain. Created an email address to anonymously harass the boss and lied about it.” He’s leaning against this desk, arms crossed. “Shall I continue?”
“She needs this job . . .” More than I do.
My hand is still pressed over his, holding it down, preventing him from picking up his office phone and calling human resources. Or security.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t toss her ass to the curb with yours right this second.”
Reasons why Gen shouldn’t be fired. Reasons why Gen shouldn’t be fired—there are a ton, but my freaking brain can’t come up with a single one.