Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
As noon ticks close, I grab my phone with the built-in lip gloss case—purses can suck it—and swing by Jules’s desk.
“I’m going to grab lunch. I’ll be back in forty-five,” I say to the stony-faced woman.
Without even glancing up from her pristine desk, she replies, “You can take an hour. It’s standard for everyone.”
Even princesses.
“Forty-five minutes is fine. I don’t mind,” I say, upbeat. I don’t want to look like I’m taking advantage of my connections.
Though I can’t see her eyes, I have a feeling she’s rolling them. Then, she raises her face. Her mouth is tight. Her dark eyes, piercing. “Are you going to stay here at Lucky 21 at the end of your internship this summer?”
I’m taken aback by the question and the intensity with which she asks it. “I don’t actually know,” I say, trying not to stumble on my own surprise. I didn’t think she was interested in my plans.
She straightens her spine. “If you’re going to apply for an open position, I’d like to know. It’ll help me to focus my…resources.”
Jules, I’m here for one reason, and it has nothing to do with a job.
But she doesn’t need to know I have no desire to work in media. “Thank you. I’ve been thinking about my fall plans a lot. I’ll let you know.”
“You do that,” she says, then returns to typing, tap, tap, tapping away on her noisy keyboard. There’s no dismissal, no goodbye. But that’s no-nonsense Jules for you.
I’ve turned to go when she clears her throat and says, “And if you’re not keen on sticking around, you don’t have to stay late.”
A prickle of fear slides down my spine.
Does she know what I did last night? Or has she noticed me hanging around Bridger’s office at other times in the evenings?
No idea. I swallow back the nerves, then face her once more. The more I seem like a bad girl, the more she’ll think I am one.
“Thanks, but I was that way in school too. Working late. Coming in early,” I say with a what can you do shrug.
Look it up, Jules. I was the valedictorian at Carlisle Academy and I attended a top twenty-five ranked university, earning a double major in French and art history. I’m not a slacker who leaves work early.
On that salvo, I head out to lunch, doing my best to shed my worry over her. I’m allowed to spend time with Bridger. In fact, it’s expected. My dad made it clear Bridger would be the point of contact for my internship. I’ve done nothing wrong with my office visits.
Still, as I leave, I don’t even look at Bridger’s door. I won’t give Jules any bait.
Sixties music plays overhead at the diner. Servers in mint green and pastel pink skirts scurry by. A jukebox offers Elvis tunes.
And from her side of the booth at the retro diner, Layla fans herself. “Holy shit. That sounds hot,” she says when I finish telling my friends the tale of last night.
Layla waves her jeweled hand in front of her face, her collection of silver skull rings catching the afternoon light. Next to her, Ethan whistles at me, with a “Damn, girl. Can you tell that story again?”
I preen a little, pleased they’ve enjoyed my escapades. I sure did.
“I’m going to need to hear it again too since my love life is more nonexistent than mermaids,” Layla adds.
I hold up a hand as a stop sign. “Wait,” I cut in. “I thought you were going out with that guy? The one your mom thought was perfect for you?”
“Mom thinks he’s perfect because his family’s like triple-yacht wealthy, and he won’t try to steal her makeup empire,” Layla says.
“The important metric of your romantic life, of course,” Ethan puts in.
“So I went out with him once. He was all let me tell you about my stock portfolio level of boring,” she says. “Ergo, my sex and love life is mermaid level.”
Ethan grabs a fry from Layla’s plate. “Sidenote: My last date thought she was a mermaid.”
Layla frowns. “Did she have a fishtail?”
“Or is she one of those I want to be a mermaid girls?” I ask, snagging a fry too.
Shaking his head, Ethan waves a hand breezily. “Like, in a past life she was a mermaid.” Then he leans closer. “Enough about me. Tell us about that kiss again and don’t leave out a single detail. Layla needs to use that story when she tests out her new toy tonight from Date Night For One.”
Layla smacks Ethan’s shoulder. “So do you.”
“I’m not testing your toy, girl,” he says.
But I don’t want to tell the story again. I need insight. “Guys, help. I feel like I’m at an impasse. I don’t know what to do next. To convince him we could be good together,” I say.