Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
My white blouse is wrinkled, and my navy blue skirt is a tad shorter than I’d typically wear to work. I’d been half-asleep when I’d pulled it from the closet, so I’ll spend the entire day pulling it down, self-conscious and full of self-loathing.
Somehow, I manage to tamp down the emotions and pull myself together.
Not wanting to be seen, I slink into my office and shut the door, throwing myself into my work. It motivated me to get here, and it will get me through the day. I work for over an hour before the events from the night before creep in.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake my mom’s words about fate and the story about her and my father’s meeting. I’d never put too much stock into things of that nature, but I couldn’t negate the fact that everything that had occurred with Charles and me had seemed too implausible to be anything less than fate.
Not that I believe Charles and I are meant to be. We’re not. We can’t be.
If anything, we’re star-crossed lovers, destined to die a slow and painful death.
Drama queen.
I have to admit, though, how we keep being pulled together is strange. Neither of us seems to be able to stop. It feels as though some unseen force is pulling the strings and thrusting us together.
Then pulling us apart.
Are we just avoiding the inevitable?
Maybe we should let things happen and deal with the fallout.
Allow ourselves to taste a slice of the forbidden fruit before the snake comes along to fuck shit up.
I blow out a breath, willing myself to concentrate on my work. There’s a lot to do and little time to do it.
I’m sending the creative team an email asking to meet this afternoon. I’ll need every hour I can squeeze to formulate ideas ahead of time. As good as our marketing team is, I’m better. I understand this account more than any of them.
We’re on a time crunch, and I need all hands on deck.
Otherwise, I’d do the heavy lifting all on my own. I’m determined to nail this, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’m a bit of a control freak.
Thankfully, the creative team had been given a heads-up by Charles and was more than ready for my email. They’d agreed to a three o’clock meeting, right before the end of the day, which gives me plenty of time.
My phone pings, pulling me away from my computer.
Asher: Lunch?
I want to see him, but there’s no way I can fit lunch in today. If I’m lucky, I’ll have a couple of minutes to hit the vending machine for a less than fulfilling snack.
Me: Can’t, sorry. I have a tight deadline chasing me.
Asher: Sounds scary. I can’t wait to hear all about it.
I’d love to be able to talk shop with someone who gets what I’m doing, but Asher isn’t the right person. Whether I like it or not, he’s competition. Until this campaign is over, I’m keeping my ideas and whining to myself.
Asher: Dinner?
Me: I’ll probably be working late. Can I text you later?
I won’t. I know that the last thing I’ll be up for tonight is dinner out and having to balance time with my friend and dodging his probing questions about my work.
Asher: Sure. I’ll be free.
Asher: Listen . . . I need to talk to you about Summer. I messed up.
Dread fills me because, without a doubt, I know what he’s going to admit.
He was the one who leaked the Summer info to Bauer.
Bile coats my throat, and my stomach plummets to my feet.
Me: Are you fucking kidding me, Ash?
Asher: I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional. I’ve been sick over it.
Me: And you decide to tell me via text????
Asher: You guessed. I wanted to tell you in person.
Fucking typical of Asher to chicken out and drop news like that via text.
It’s his MO.
Every time he sleeps with a girl and doesn’t want round two, he ends it with a text.
It’s his way of dealing with it without actually feeling the fallout. He’s a coward. It’s one thing for him to pull that shit with hookups, but I’m supposed to be his best friend.
Me: Fuck this shit.
I put my phone on silent and stuff it into my purse.
What the fuck was he thinking? How could he? And to allow that to happen via text?
I trusted him, and he betrayed me.
I feel sick to my stomach because no matter what Asher’s involvement in this was, I’m the one who shared the information with him. This is just as much my fault.
I pull out my AirPods, needing to drown out my own thoughts. The last thing I need over the next few hours is distractions. Asher hurt me, but he didn’t ruin this account. We can still nail it. Make it better.