Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
However, she doesn’t elaborate. Should I ask? She’s giving all the vibes of don’t ask, or you’ll be sorry. Also? I don’t want to talk about it, and I’m sorry I wedged that door open. Let’s shut it. Let’s shut it up tightly.
“Anyway, if only my younger self could see my present-day self now. Faking being someone’s girlfriend and then maybe not faking it. Who would have ever thought?”
She’s back to smiling, and I’m back to being drawn into the infectiousness of it. Even with this thundercloud looming over my head, I can appreciate being here right now. In the past, I’ve had trouble being present in the moment. I’m always busy planning for the future, anticipating my next move, and seeking good investments.
But right now? I’m right here with Evilla and the crab legs.
Chapter nine
Evilla
“Hey, I’m not trying to gossip, but have you noticed anything off about Mr. Montfield?”
Mabel Oxford leans against the counter in the lunchroom. She’s heating up a bowl of soup that smells incredibly divine. It’s spicy and meaty, and I wish I had the cooking skills to create something like that. Soup just isn’t the same unless it’s homemade.
“I’m not trying to gossip either, but what do you mean?” I’ve noticed. I’m just surprised other people have too. Then again, I think it’s fairly obvious.
“He was so happy the first week here, but now he looks like a well-used mop, and I mean that in the kindest way. He’s still making so many great changes. I’m so glad he’s the one who bought this company and not some ogre who has a secret hate for pudding. That or someone who just can’t translate their great ideas into workable strategies, or one of those people who thinks they’re way above everyone else. Or worse, a self-serving money-hungry power-eating trash bin who only cares about profit and doesn’t give a shite about the people below him working their butts off to get that margin.”
“I kind of see that,” I say.
“I think something’s wrong. Maybe it’s his other businesses.”
“How do you know about those?” I try to ask as offhandedly as I can.
Mabel looks like a model. Wavy blonde hair, makeup straight off of one of those how to apply makeup to your face to look like a kickass boss bitch tutorials, and all the vintage clothes for days. She’s a thrifter, too—an absolute fiend for finding vintage in the wild—and she wears it so much better than I do.
I don’t get jealous of other people the way some people do. If that stems from insecurity, then maybe I’ve just never had that in me. Rather than be jealous of how pretty Mabel is and how great her fashion sense is, I look to her for inspiration. I’m not really into competing with other people for anything because I find it so freaking tedious.
“I just looked him up as soon as I knew what his name was. I was surprised he was so young to be buying a corporation of this size, but I guess he’s already got an impressive portfolio of other companies he owns.” She opens the microwave, stirs her soup of the gods, and puts it back in for another minute. “Do you think maybe something went wrong there? I don’t know how he can run all of these things. It must be so stressful.”
“I’m not sure.” If I’m any more noncommittal, it’s going to be very obvious that I’m committal.
“He’ll likely just leave this place to his CEO and COO, president or vice-president, or whatever structure he decides to implement here soon enough. It’s kind of weird to have him in meetings on and off anyway.”
“What do you mean? Mike and his family were constantly sitting in on meetings.”
“Yeah, but they started the place, and Mike was the CEO. It’s different when you build it from the ground up. Mr. Montfield bought this place because either he had a bee in his business bonnet about owning a pudding empire or he thought it had the potential to make some great profits over the years. Well, that, or he’s money laundering and thought pudding would be a good cover.”
I see the way her lips turn up. She’s rocking a gorgeous shade of red, and don’t ask me how she gets it to stay flawless the way she does because red on me gets everywhere except my lips. “Probably not money laundering,” I say with a laugh.
“Anyway, I think something’s wrong. How should we bring it up without sounding weird?”
“Are you asking me because you think I have great ideas, or…”
“Okay.” She gives in without a fight. “I might have heard something about you two dating.”
Fuck. Oh, no. No, no, no.
“We’re more like good friends. We might have dabbled in a single date, but sometimes it’s better to just stay friendly.”