Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“You put what?”
“Itching powder I took from Gabe’s prank box! It was just supposed to be a stupid joke. A payback for the porn bombing he pulled on my computer,” I say as my eyes start filling with tears.
“You mean after you put a laxative in his Coke?”
“Kaleigh, not now, for the love of God. You are on my side always. Blood thicker than asshat boss,” I remind her. “The minute he ran into me and I almost fell but he caught me instead, I regretted doing it. Oh, god. Do you think he’s going to know it’s me?”
“I don’t know. Does anyone else in the office hate him?” she asks me.
“I have no idea if anyone hates him. It’s not something I can bring up, you know? I mean, I’m his PA; I can’t go around asking people ‘Hey, how are you? Isn’t Austin an asshole?’ Oh my god!” I pull up to the cleaners. “I gotta call you back. I’m at the cleaners. I’m bringing his clothes to be recleaned.”
I hang up even though she is still talking. I rush into the cleaners, my arms full of all his clothes.
“Hi, there. I need all of these recleaned, twice please.” I put the clothes down on the counter.
“Ma’am, you just picked these up this morning,” the lady says while she picks up the clean clothes that are still in the plastic covers.
“Yes, I think something spilt on them, and he wants them cleaned again,” I say, smiling “Twice.”
“Twice?” she asks, confused.
“Yes, just in case. He wants them run through the cleaning process twice,” I repeat to her, and she puts my special request on the card. I turn and rush out of there. I climb back into my car, toss my purse onto the passenger seat, and head for home.
While I brake at a stop sign, the empty bottle of itching powder rolls to the front floorboard at the same time as my phone rings. I see that it’s Kaleigh calling.
“Are you okay?” she whispers.
“No. I’m not okay. I caused my boss to end up in the ER with an allergic reaction and swollen balls because I was trying to get back at him.” I feel the sob creeping up my throat.
“Did you get rid of all of the evidence?” she asks me.
“I still have the empty bottle here in the car.” I look down at it, and it’s almost as if it’s taunting me.
“Throw it out of the car right now,” she instructs me. “Open the window and toss it as far as you can.”
I pick up the bottle and hold it in my hand. “Should I wipe it down?” I look around for a rag.
“Lauren, do you honestly think he is calling CSI to come and find the bottle? Just throw the fucking thing out the window and come home.”
Just as I’m about to throw the bottle out of the window, I hear a honk, startling me. “Fuck,” I say while the bottle falls into my lap.
“I’m on my way,” I say while I drive on, and when I’m all alone on the street, I toss that bottle as far as I can while driving.
Once I park my car in the driveway, I text Austin.
I hope you’re okay?
I wait a couple of seconds, but nothing comes in. So, I walk into the house, where I’m greeted with hugs and kisses.
When I finally tumble into bed, my phone beeps with a text from Austin.
I’m not coming in tomorrow, so you can take the day off.
Oh, are you okay? I heard you had an allergic reaction.
You could say that.
Well, I’ll be here all weekend if you need anything. I’m hosting my parents and a couple of their friends for their anniversary brunch on Sunday morning, but if you need anything, please let me know.
Sure thing.
This is really weird. He’s usually sarcastic and an asshole, but now he’s all soft and not at all snarky.
The next couple of days are pretty much the same as usual. On Saturday night, after putting the kids to bed, I start preparing the dishes and everything for tomorrow’s brunch.
Mom is having a caterer come in, since I’m hosting their anniversary brunch. We plan to set up outside and have a beautiful outdoor celebration with twenty of their closest friends.
My phone rings, letting me know that it’s my mom calling.
“Hey, Mom.”
“How did you know it was me?” she asks, all confused.
“Mom, the phone has caller ID.” My mom isn’t a tech friendly person. Last time she tried to FaceTime the kids, her screen was facing the other way and all we saw was her finger on the camera.
“Are you ready for tomorrow, dear? You didn’t really have to do this, but we are so excited about it.” Her voice is pitching higher with her excitement.
“It’s my pleasure, Mom. You know I would do anything for you two.” And I would. Mom and Dad have been married for thirty-nine years.