Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“Snap out of it,” I mutter to myself. “Now isn’t the time to think with your tits. This is his career.”
I shake my head and type out another message—one I can be morally proud of.
ElizaBeth: I’m good. Thanks.
ThunderStruck: So, that’s it?
ElizaBeth: That’s it. Goodnight, Beau.
ThunderStruck: Goodnight, Mystery Whistleblower. Stay away from cars, buildings, and boats, okay?
Is he…is he flirting? I swipe out of Midnight and burrow myself under my covers, my whole body shaking.
Maybe thinking with my tits isn’t such a bad thing?
“Where in the hell have you been?” Avery asks, peeking around the corner of the wall between our cubicles and startling me into a jolt.
Not only was she not at her desk when I walked by it a minute ago, she hasn’t been in the office all morning. I’ve been running around like a headless Chicken Little to cover both our asses, so I would know. Her questioning my whereabouts is the height of irony. The Mount Everest of irony, really.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, my voice playfully jeering. “Taking notes for Mr. McKenzie in his call with Big Energy in London, running to Starbucks for the whole exec wing, toting spreadsheets for Tom in Accounting, running to the fourth floor for Carla with changes for Digital Marketing for the commercial that goes live next month for Langley, and sorting through our email box to see what needs to be done next.” I’ve been hustling my little ass all morning, but the real travesty is that I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time to check in on Beau or ascertain if our messages last night are on his mind at all.
Avery just stands there, her work-averse mind refusing to digest the words that just left my lips.
“Where in the hell have you been for the last two hours?” I ask, and a secretive smile crests her lips.
“You know Luke from Copywriting?”
I shake my head, but my eyes are focused on the screen of my laptop, organizing emails into folders and assigning myself tasks in Asana, our company’s work management platform. If I stopped what I was doing every time Avery showed up with a story, I’d end up getting the same amount of work accomplished as she does.
I’m not self-centered enough to think I’m vastly important to the operation of Banks & McKenzie as an intern, but I definitely take a chunk of busywork off everyone else’s plates that would lower production at least a little.
“What?” Avery questions, rounding the thin wall and jumping up to sit on my desk. It’s just Pretty Woman-toned enough to make me worry she’s going to unzip her over-the-knee black Prada boot and start pulling out condoms. “You must be living under a rock if you don’t know who the hottest guy in the company is!”
I snort. She would be horrified if she knew who I think the hottest guy in the company is.
“Anyway,” she continues, immersed in her own story enough to carry the conversation herself. “I saw him in the elevator, after I ran to Starbucks to get a coffee, and let’s just say, he’s a really good kisser.”
“Avery!” I chastise, dropping my voice to a whisper. “You do realize this is your father’s company, right? You can’t just run around kissing employees in the elevator.”
“Oh, relax. I didn’t kiss him in the elevator,” she retorts. “I kissed him in his office on the eighth floor.”
“So, let me get this straight,” I say, leaning back in my chair to stare at her. “You stayed out late, woke up late, went to Starbucks, and then kissed Luke whatshisface in his office on the eighth floor, and I got Chris McKenzie’s Men in Black face.”
Avery covers her mouth and giggles. Because of Beau’s friendship with Seth in college, I’ve known his father Chris much longer than any other intern would. I know the quirks of his attitude and what drives him nuts, and I know, when he’s really angry, he looks like Vincent D’Onofrio in Men in Black. This morning, on the call with London, he was full-on alien.
Beau does a great impression when he’s off the clock and you get a few beers in him, but the real thing is much scarier.
“I keep inviting you to join me. There are a lot of certified foxes on the eighth floor. We could have found one for you,” she counters.
I roll my eyes. “Remind me again why you wanted this job.”
“Because I love working with my best friend.” She nudges me with her knee.
“It’s funny when you say working… Is it a code word for something? A secret message? Please, help me understand.”
“Okay, fine,” she replies. “I love hanging out and watching my best friend work.”
I laugh at that. “If I didn’t love you so much, I’d probably hate you.”
“It’s part of my charm, you know? I’m irresistible.” She winks. “Just ask Luke Harrington.”