Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
When it dawns on me that my fate has been decided, I ask, “And me? What do I get?”
It won’t be a share of Peter’s cut because, as far as Rochelle and Mr. Black are concerned, we’re not a couple. Peter wanted to keep our relationship strictly business during office hours.
Now I know why.
Rochelle’s voice doesn’t house an ounce of remorse. “Your unused vacation days will be included in your final pay.”
That’s it?
That’s all I get for seven years and one hundred and thirty-eight million dollars in profit?
“Okay.” I have a million more words in my head but no way of expressing them without screaming like a lunatic. I need to keep my cool if I want to secure another job in the financial sector. “I’ll pack my things now.”
“Things?” Rochelle asks, conscious everything in and on my desk belongs to Black Industries.
Almost everything, I mentally correct.
“I have a photograph of my parents on my desk.” I smile when I remember how long ago the polaroid image was taken. It was the year my parents met, and snapped during the annual Christmas tree lighting in my mother’s hometown.
The thousands of lights illuminating the Christmas tree bounce off my mother’s dark locks, but they have nothing on the sparkle of love in her eyes.
My parents aren’t ashamed to admit it was love at first sight. They have no reason to be ashamed. They’ve been inseparable since they first met.
“Right,” Rochelle replies, fighting not to snicker. “The housemaid and the janitor, right?”
I could ignore her snide tone any other day, but not today. “Yes. Two employed people who’ve been happily married for over thirty years.”
I could mention that they were one of Ravenshoe’s lucky investors who believed in the young entrepreneur that put this town on the map, but since my parents’ happiness will swipe Rochelle’s smile from her face quicker than the knowledge they own several investment properties now in the millions, I keep tightlipped—mostly.
“What’s your relationship status again?”
Her wrinkled face, that looks like she sucked a lemon, tells me everything I need to know.
She’s been single longer than I’ve worked here.
“Don’t get up,” I murmur when they don’t attempt to make our split amicable. “I’ll show myself out.”
My shell is unbreakable… Until Rochelle proves the Grinch isn’t a fictional villain.
CHAPTER 6
Zane
“They’re both white. I can’t see any difference.”
“This one is Chantilly Lace and the other is Tibetan Jasmine. There’s a noticeable difference.” When I arch my brow at my mother, she bonks my nose with a selection she could have made a month ago if she hadn’t decided to get engaged and married in under three weeks.
This wedding will set her new husband’s bank balance back a pretty penny.
Lucky he’s wealthy as fuck.
Needing to end our meeting before they convince me there’s a difference between two identical napkins, I reply, “Chantilly Lace. It goes well with the frilly lacy thingamabob you’re putting in the middle of the table.”
“The table runners?” the wedding organizer assistant asks as she bats her lashes at me.
“Yeah. Them.” She’s the type I’d usually go for. Busty, blonde, and with a streak of wildness in her eyes, but today, I’m not interested.
I haven’t been able to get a certain spicy little Spaniard out of my head. She’s been on my mind since I woke up to an empty bed two days ago and hasn’t left it for a second.
Not even this morning in the shower when the overly floral body wash reminded me of her perfume.
I showered only minutes after having room service bring a mug of cocoa to my room with a double serving of candy cane stirrers.
Hand stimulation was the only way I could leave my suite without a raging hard-on.
Did you know there are several spelling variations of the name Kelsey? No? I didn’t either… Until I began searching for a needle in a haystack. There are twenty-four Kelseys in Ravenshoe West alone, and I have no clue if the Kelsey I’m seeking lives here or if she’s one of the millions of tourists who visit each year.
“You think the Chantilly?” asks my mother, drawing me from my thoughts. “I was leaning toward Jasmine.”
“Then go Jasmine.” It takes everything I have not to shout, “It’s the same damn color,” but I hold back the urge—just.
“Hmm… maybe you’re right.”
My phone buzzes as my mother places two identical napkins against the bright red plate she chose because she’s getting married a week before Christmas.
Grateful for an out, I shake my phone to announce I’ll be outside taking a call before I sprint for the exit.
“Bet you’re regretting not working now?” Emma riles me a second after I squash my phone to my ear. “What white is she picking this year?” She laughs when I growl. “Weddings—”
“Are the bane of my existence.”
“Continue to exist because of you,” Emma corrects. “And don’t be too hard on your mom. If it weren’t for her, you could have been a sleazy lawyer. Or worse…” She pauses to build the suspense. “A stockbroker.”