Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
"I was being truthful. Surely that would be better than lying to her?"
"So many other things are better than you telling Debbie you wouldn't date her even if she were the last woman on earth," Heather shot back.
"Isn't that the only proper thing to say, considering I'm in a relationship?"
"But the poor girl didn't know that, did she?"
"Oh, come off it, Heather," Valerian said irritably. "It's not my job to inform every damn woman I meet I'm off the market, is it?"
It was true Valerian didn't owe anyone an explanation, but neither was he stupid enough not to notice his spellbinding effect on women.
'Valerian Rossfield is Adonis incarnate' was how one infatuated fan had described him, and while that might also be true...
If only all the other girls knew he could also be the Devil incarnate when pissed, Heather thought with a private sigh.
"Can you do me a favor?" Heather asked finally. "The next time we have a new girl working for us, can you tell her straight off that you're unavailable?"
"That's a waste of my time," Valerian dismissed. "But feel free to say so on my behalf if you think it's that important."
Mm...
Heather absently drummed her fingers on the table as she considered Valerian's words.
If she did as he asked, a decent woman would thus know better than to cross any lines. And as for those who persisted in pursuing him and ended up being cruelly rejected by Valerian—-Either they weren't the decent sort in the first place or they were simply too stubborn for their own good.
YOU CAN'T BE TOO FRIENDLY, but you can't be too quiet either.
He hates having his time wasted, so don't ever make him wait for anything.
You're to address him as 'sir' and nothing else.
By the time Joy and Giovanni sent Poppy away in a cab, her head was swimming with all the instructions and warnings they had thrown her way, and she could not remember a single thing about it.
I'm so doomed, God. Halp!
Her heartbeat had already skyrocketed to a record-breaking rate when the cab let her off at the impressive lobby of Rossfield Inc., and her hands were visibly shaking as she handed over Joy's referral letter to the receptionist.
"Please take a seat," the other woman offered with a polite smile. "It usually takes a while before first-time visitors are cleared for penthouse access."
Poppy had a rather hysterical urge to laugh. All she was here for was to give a rich guy his bi-monthly trim. So why did it feel like she was about to enter a high-security prison instead?
She tried not to feel self-conscious as she headed to the waiting area. Everyone around her looked so posh, in a corporate-shark-kind-of-way, while here she was in her salon uniform, which consisted of a monogrammed buttoned-up blouse, jeans, and a sturdy pair of loafers.
She had to remember that this was a Heaven-sent opportunity. She had dreamt and prayed to be assigned to one of the salon's VIP clients for so long. It was finally happening, and she must not mess it up by being nervous.
Please God, please stop me from doing anything stupid.
Today might be the first time in Salon Joyieux's fourteen-year-history that a junior stylist like herself would be assigned a VIP client, but she wasn't going to freak out about that. Giovanni might've said something about her client being a billionaire workaholic whose exacting attitude and rumored impatience made Gordon Ramsey seem like a saint, but...she wasn't going to freak out over it either.
No matter what, Poppy was determined to play it cool. She would only focus on the fact that she loved her job, and—-
"Ms. Cortez?"
Poppy had already jumped to her feet like a soldier before realizing this would only further betray her nervousness.
Oops.
The woman in front of her seemed to be in her early forties and dressed so stylishly that she could very well be a billionaire herself.
Oh. Wait. Maybe she really was?
The other woman raised a brow at Poppy. "You are Poppy Cortez, aren't you?"
Eep!
Poppy immediately lowered her head in apology. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Rossfield—-"
The other woman looked appalled. "Oh, I'm not Mr. Rossfield's wife. And he's not married either."
"Oh, um..." Poppy wished there was a way for her to rewind the time and do things again. Or if not that, then maybe God could somehow wipe this woman's memory of the past ten seconds?
"I'm Heather, Mr. Rossfield's secretary."
Poppy started to apologize, but the other woman was already walking away.
"If you'd follow me, please?"
Poppy started to walk but ended up half-running to match the other woman's brisk, long-legged pace.
"Security took some time to clear your credentials," Heather informed her as they stepped inside one of the building's high-speed elevators, "so I'm afraid we'll need to hurry."
Poppy had no chance to answer, with the elevator doors already opening, and Heather immediately striding out.