Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Except, it feels deliciously personal. And not the least bit professional.
* * *
Veronica: See you tomorrow, Milo.
* * *
Milo: Night, Glitter Gal.
* * *
And that feels even more personal, his nickname for me. I set a hand to my suddenly racing heart, then put my phone down, before the exchange veers even further away from professional.
I head to the kitchen table, clean up the transcription of my column on my laptop, then send it to Bellamy before I call it a night.
When I slide into bed a little later, I click back to the texts. I can’t resist re-reading the messages as I settle under the sheets. They send a tingle down my spine. So much that when I put down my phone for good, it’s not the last device I use before I fall asleep.
But even if Milo entered my fantasies, at least I kept Mister Sexy Pants out of my column. That’s a solid step in my program of de-crush-ification.
In the morning, I’m at the bathroom mirror, slicking on Two Pink Lips gloss while Hot Stuff sniffs my hair. This cat loves my shampoo. When he tries to rub his head against my blow-dried locks, I inch away. He gives me the stink eye, then resorts to watching my every move from his perch on the vanity when my phone beeps.
I get a burst of excitement at the thought that it could be Milo, wanting to walk with me to work. I’d say yes in a heartbeat, but the message isn’t from him.
It’s Bellamy, and I try not to be disappointed.
Being the badass boss lady she is, she’s already read my column. I love literally everything about this installment . . . but can you pretty please add Mister Sexy Pants to it? Like maybe in between the fictional Bob O’Malley and Daryl Mayberry? The readers love Mister Sexy Pants. He’s become something of a legend here at The Dating Pool.
I groan. More like a legend in my own mind.
But I reply with, Of course. While I’m tapping out the message with the phone on the counter, Hot Stuff stretches then saunters across my phone, stepping on the screen with his gigantic paws. “Dude,” I chide, but he’s already leaped to the floor and is off to the living room to likely lick something.
Not his balls though.
I glance back at the phone screen, figuring he fired off another note prematurely. But the email he walked on is safe and sound in drafts. “Seriously?” I grumble. “You couldn’t have sent that email? You had to send the one to Agnes?”
I catch a final glimpse of the big boy before he slinks into the kitchen. He holds his head high, and he is definitely giving me the butt.
I sigh and add a line for Bellamy at the end of the column. That seems the better place for Mister Sexy Pants. Then I send her the edited closing paragraph:
* * *
For now, I’m going to grab my Just for Her Diamond Flicker because I have a dream date with Mister Sexy Pants and my imagination.
* * *
Well, it’s the truth.
I hit send, finish my primping, and as I drop my gloss into my purse, I get a new message in my inbox—from Blanche.
Huh. I didn’t think I’d hear from her again so soon.
* * *
Dear Veronica,
* * *
I can’t thank you enough. Your recommendation was spot on. Pun intended. In any case, do not hesitate to reach out when you’re ready to look for work again. I will do my best to help you.
* * *
Blanche
* * *
I’m pretty sure her offer is a tit for tat, but that works for me. I’ll definitely cash in the favor soon enough. I shoot her a quick reply, telling her about my new job and thanking her for checking in, then head to the kitchen, where I grab a pen and check the calendar of firemen and rescue pets that Ellie gave me for Christmas.
Six weeks from now, I’ll begin my redemption job search with the hope of snagging a new publishing gig by the end of the summer. Hazel said she’ll be talking to her editor soon, feeling out Lancaster Abel Books about possible openings on the children’s side. She’s asking her writer friend TJ, as well, to keep his ear to the ground.
I circle the date and write blastoff in the square. Then I grab my purse, kiss my pets goodbye on their wet noses, and head to work.
When I arrive fifteen minutes later, Milo’s back is to me, and he’s bent over a bike on a stand, giving me a perfect view of his ass, all firm and muscular in a pair of snug jeans that are unfairly sexy.
Why am I so into his booty?
No idea, but I want to grab his ass. Preferably while he’s deep inside me.