Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
I’m almost snarling as my head snaps back, jerking away, gasping for air.
I’m not alone. She’s panting, struggling to catch her breath while every bone in my body soaks up this sickness.
Fuck.
I’m just like my old man. I can’t lose the best EA I’ve ever had—not like this—and I won’t let her suffer through a scandal I probably deserve.
Office scandals follow women, and for her, it isn’t fucking fair.
“Sorry. We’ve both been drinking,” I say, trying to brush it off as the reckless, godawful wine-fueled error that it is, without making her feel ruined.
Right.
She stares at me wide-eyed but doesn’t say anything.
“I had to do something to calm you down. You were acting like a lunatic because I bought a few books.”
She’s confused. “Mag?”
I shake my head.
“Forget it. I meant every word of what I said; your bonus paid to your mother was well deserved, and you shouldn’t worry about it. Umm—” I wag a finger between us. “This thing that happened...too much wine and not enough water. I always forget how dry the air gets out here, even in the cooler months. Again, I had to do something to calm you—”
Her eyes bore into me, and she cuts me off.
“Got it. It’s not like I asked you to.”
Shit. Is she talking about the money or the kiss? Does that mean she didn’t want it?
“We’ll never speak of it again, and you’re still the best EA I’ve ever had. Deal?” I ask, offering my hand.
She doesn’t answer.
She storms away.
Downhill in flip-flops.
My gut clenches and my heart jumps into my throat. She almost fell several times on the way up, and going down, she’ll only have more momentum.
I race up behind her and scoop her up again, tossing her over my shoulder. She’s like a down pillow in my arms. She fights at first, her face crimson, but then she relents, shifting to stare at my lips like she can’t believe we went there.
I’m such an unholy jagoff.
“I thought we were done? Never speaking of that stuff again?”
“We won’t, but I’m not letting you break your neck either, woman. I have too much work for you to do.”
“I hate you.” Her words are humorless, menacing, a tone I haven’t heard her use before, and fuck, do I deserve it.
Let her loathe the ground I walk on and surround herself in barbed wire.
It’s the reminder I need, before I do the unspeakable.
If Sabrina Bristol hates me, maybe that’s the best thing I could hope for.
* * *
Years Ago
To: Magnus Heron
From: Jesy Cho
Subject: You People Are Stupid
Heron,
When we signed a six-figure contract for media and advertising management with Heron Communications, this company wasn’t expecting a block of ten a.m. commercial breaks. I need to know three things:
1. What moron books TV advertisements during The View? I don’t know about you, but my grandmother doesn’t wear designer jeans.
2. How are you going to fix this, or do you plan to cancel my contract with a full refund? Or do we need to sue, because most judges will agree I didn’t get what I paid for.
3. How many damn emails do I have to send my account manager to get a response?
Thanks,
Jesy Cho
Marketing Director, Go Boom Denim International
I push my chair away from the desk and sigh.
Apparently, Jesy emailed her account manager four times before shooting this off to me, and...
Yeah. I get why she’s upset. The moron in charge of her account hasn’t responded either.
At this point, we’re losing a client and the why doesn’t matter.
Dad shouldn’t be putting up with this bullshit. I’d can a crappy account manager on the spot.
This is first-year intern fodder. The manager only rose through the ranks because he was one of my dad’s frat buddies, too. He had no fucking idea what he was doing when he was hired, and years later, he still doesn’t.
He obviously got talked into the worst ad slot available with the station. But I saw the bill for it. That poorly targeted slot hadn’t come at a discount.
Any more of this, and HeronComm will be heading for the shitter. Jesy Cho is a mover and shaker who knows a lot of people.
I’ve had it.
I storm over to my father’s corner office and barge in without knocking—every time I do, he always yells that he’s busy.
He doesn’t seem to notice me at first.
I freeze in the doorway, taking in the scene, trying to comprehend what I’m seeing.
My father’s face is a bright hell-red. He’s screaming incoherently and shaking his fist.
A tiny blond woman cowers in the corner, next to the filing cabinet with her hands out in front of her, like she’s trying to shield herself.
Maybe she is.
I’d never seen him this mad before, bowed up like he’s about to fucking hit her.
He shakes his fist above his head, his back turned, his voice this vile hiss.