Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
I’ve caught the culprit.
Now I’m going to make her pay.
She unwraps it and then tosses the wrapper into the trash can. My anger rachets up when she stands and walks over to my bookshelves. Her finger runs along the shelves, and she then holds a finger up in front of her face as though she’s inspecting it for dust. She admires my painting for a bit before returning to my chair. The woman—no, girl based on her young features—continues to eat her candies one at a time. She kicks her feet up on my desk and proceeds to scroll through her phone. This goes on for at least a half-hour. I fast forward through this part. Finally, she pockets her phone and then plays with my desk buttons making it go up and down a few times. Eventually she stands, steps on one of the wrappers she missed tossing into the bin and walks it over to where I stepped on it. It transfers to the floor at that point. She shakes her head as though she’s angry about whatever she’s thinking about, and then walks right up to the glass. Once she’s done gazing at my fucking city, she walks past the wrapper she managed to stick to my floor, grabs her rag off the desk, and then pushes her cart from the room.
Un-fucking-believable.
As soon as the lights go off on the video, I shut it down, ready to explode with fury. It takes several calming breaths before I manage to slow my heartrate. I’ll deal with this brat soon enough.
Ping.
I open my email, eager as fuck to find what Deborah has uncovered for me.
Ash Ember Elliott.
Brand new employee at FGM Services.
Someone let this highly unqualified woman into my office. They’re all going down for this. It’s such gross negligence, I can barely see straight because of my rage.
I could go straight to the top and let the manager fire all those directly responsible for this outrage, or I could take matters into my own hands. Punish the offender directly. I quite enjoy a good verbal reaming.
Tonight, I’ll deal with Miss Elliott.
She played in my office like a child, wrecked it with her mess, and took wages for a job she didn’t do.
I’ve ended men for less, with a fucking grin on my face, too.
I will absolutely enjoy destroying her.
In fact, I’ll be counting down every second until her arrival.
2
Ash
I stare at my bank statement, once again hurt by Dad’s actions.
It’s gone.
All but seven grand was taken out by my father. Not because he’s a gambler or had to keep a roof over our heads. It wasn’t because his car broke down or we suddenly had medical bills that needed paying.
No.
Dad robbed my college fund for one reason only.
Her.
It’s hard not to hate the woman replacing your mother. Mom’s been dead ten years, so I should be fine with Dad having remarried. Manda is a nice enough woman. A little hoity-toity for my liking, but I get along with her okay. It doesn’t mean I have to like her.
What I hate is that Dad is changing for her. Before he met Manda at a gala he’d been invited to last year, we’d been happy. Sure, we’d downsized from the home he shared with Mom upstate and moved to an apartment in the city to be closer to his job. We went from living comfortably to having to pinch pennies. Since Mom was no longer pulling in a sizable income with her speaking engagements, that meant Dad was the breadwinner. Luckily, they had plenty saved for my college.
But for Manda, he wanted to level up to her. Be someone he’s not. Attend fancy functions and shower her with gifts. It wasn’t until last week when I was going to ask him to pull some money out of my college savings account to purchase a car for my birthday, that I learned how much he’d bled it dry.
Five hundred thousand was drained over the course of six months.
All for her.
A pricey engagement ring. Expensive dinners. Trip to Europe.
I knew he was spending money on Manda, but I didn’t realize it was coming out of my college fund. Seven thousand won’t even touch my first semester at Columbia University, which runs close to sixty grand a year plus housing, books, and meals.
“Manda has generously offered to pay your tuition, doll.”
I can’t help but shudder at Dad’s reply when I burst into tears after he told me where my education fund went. He made too much money for us to qualify for financial assistance, and even if I apply for loans right now, I’m not promised to receive funding by the time tuition is due. I’d worked so hard to get into Columbia, and now it feels like it’s being stolen away from me.