Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81581 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81581 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
But then I remember that Grayson Maxwell doesn’t speak to me. Hell, he doesn’t even look at me. Just waves me away, as if me bringing him his obligatory ten o’clock coffee is a nuisance.
Well, fuck him and fuck his stupid scheduled coffee.
I storm away from his desk and can’t help but slam the door shut. The sound has several other employees jerking their shocked gazes to me. I give them a scathing glare before smoothing out my hair.
I’ve had enough.
Nobody here appreciates a damn thing I do. And I do everything. Hell, Mr. Maxwell wouldn’t be closing on one of his most annoying clients yet if it weren’t for my interfering. All it took was a little reverse psychology to have Mr. Collins begging to sell his resort.
I did that.
Not Grayson Maxwell.
Me.
Seven years ago, I could barely look at myself in the mirror. Much less waltz around a corporate office with my chin held high and confident in what I was doing. During the first year after Vaughn, I struggled to find myself. The job I landed at Maxwell was the beginning of that change. I evolved from the broken woman I was into someone strong and capable. I’ve put in my time. I have experience. This entire office runs like a well-oiled machine because I see to it that it does.
Absolutely nobody recognizes any of this.
I should have been the newest associate. Not weasel-eyed Truman. The kid looks fresh out of college—this is probably his first job. Yet, they’re probably paying him double what I make simply because he has a pair of balls between his muscular thighs.
Fuck balls.
Fuck the Boys’ Club.
Fuck them all.
“Where are you going?” Darlene, a woman old enough to be my mother calls out to me. She’s Jeff Barker’s assistant, who’s the CFO.
“I’m going home,” I hiss over my shoulder. “I’m sick.” The lie feels easy on my tongue. I’ve never taken a sick day. Six years and not once have I called in sick.
“But Mr. Maxwell has the board meeting at three. Who will serve refreshments?” she questions, her voice quivering because, heaven forbid, she have to prance around in that room full of monsters and wait on them hand and foot.
I swallow down the rage threatening to consume me. I could run circles around Truman, and yet he’s the one with the cushy office. With the attention of the board. All I get is to ask them how they like their coffee. I’ve been here six years too long.
“Violet,” Darlene whines, using my full name, probably in a half-assed attempt to soften me. “Please. You know I can’t do what you do. They’ll eat me alive.”
Slowly, I turn around and pin her approaching frame with a fiery glare. “Why do I have to be thrown to the wolves every first Friday of the month?”
Tears well in her eyes at my harsh tone. I’ve always been nice to her. We’ve even gone out to lunch on the rare occasion when both of our bosses have been out. I like Darlene. Her grandkids are cute, and I like watching her eyes light up when she talks about them. My misplaced anger at her simmers to a slow boil. I heave out a heavy breath and place my hands on my hips.
“Fine,” I concede. “But I am taking an early lunch. I’ll be gone for a while too. Make sure you get Mr. Maxwell his one o’clock coffee.”
Her head is nodding emphatically like a bobble head. “Of course. Enjoy your lunch, sweetie.”
I give her a clipped nod before clacking my heels on the marbled floors toward the elevator. I’m going to finally give in and call back Slante Mortgages. Sean Slante has been trying to recruit me for months now. A part of me suspects it’s because he has a thing for long legs and brunettes. But a bigger part of me hopes it’s because my résumé is solid.
His reason for wanting me there doesn’t matter. The pay is better and at least I’d have the ability to move up in the company. It isn’t antiquated. There is no glass ceiling I’d have to beat my fists on.
I’m no longer Violet Simmons, a victim under Vaughn’s thumb.
And soon I’ll no longer be just another pretty face who makes coffee at Maxwell Subsidiaries.
I’ll be a valued employee.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
To be cherished and noticed.
“Letty,” Ralph Darden, one of the board members, calls out to me. “A refill, please. Not so much sugar this time,” he chides. He licks his lips as he shamelessly gawks at my breasts when I bend forward to grab his mug.
When I jerk my gaze along the twelve faces in the room, each and every one of them is buried in their paperwork. Nobody notices Ralph’s sexual advances. I wonder if they’d notice if I smacked him upside his balding head.