Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Still, next time, ring the doorbell and let me know you’ve arrived, then I’ll make myself more presentable.”
“We both know that isn’t true.”
“Yeah, well, why can’t we have a little fantasy to make the morning easier?” He gestures at me. “Speaking of which, what’s on the schedule?”
I’m tempted to tell him to put a shirt on first. Maybe even force him to pick up some of the clutter. While the kitchen’s basically bare, the living room looks like a wreck: glasses left out, the ashtray filled with the remnants of what I’m pretty sure has to be several fat weed joints, a couple bottles of whiskey teetering on the floor, and the television left on mute playing the Home Shopping Network.
I don’t know how a man that runs multiple highly successful hotels can live like this and still function.
Yet Con manages to pull it off.
“You have meetings in an hour.” I flip open his date book. It’s physical, which he always loves to make fun of, but I keep better notes with a pen. “I pushed them back the moment I saw the door was left open again. And when I saw the panties on the stairs.”
“Okay, I’ll admit that isn’t the most sanitary thing in the world.”
“Yeah, you’re right, I’d never take off my underwear in dirty place like this.” I don’t know why I say it and I regret it the second it comes out.
Only I’m sick of dealing with Con’s bullshit—after three years of cleaning up after him, putting up with his comments, forcing myself to ignore his beautiful shirtless body, despising his don’t-give-a-shit attitude, I’m ready to explode.
I half expect him to fire me on the spot. Instead, he only smirks. “You’ve been saving that for a while, haven’t you?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I mean, yes, it’s just that—”
“I get it. I’m shirtless and you’re not thinking clearly.”
“No, I mean, you should definitely have a shirt on—”
“It’s fine, Isabel. You don’t have to explain yourself. I am very distracting.” He tilts his head, his smile fading. “Though I expect better.”
I clamp my mouth shut.
Nothing pisses me off more than when he says I expect better. It’s his favorite go-to line like I’m the one letting him down. Like I’m the one that doesn’t have my shit together. Like I’m the one parading a bunch of floozy girls through my house, one after the other, sleeping with them, drinking with them, smoking with them, and tossing them aside for the latest model the moment they become uninteresting.
I’m the only reason this man hasn’t drowned a long time ago.
“I switched your first two meetings to virtual,” I say, changing the subject, my cheeks burning with frustration. I keep my tone crisp and professional. “You have time to get showered and changed, and you can take them here at the house.”
“Perfect.” He sips his coffee. “I’ll make sure to put on a shirt for those.”
“I’ll send your car to bring you to the office when you’re finished.”
“Actually.” He hesitates, glancing toward the hallway. “Send the car now.”
I open my mouth to protest. I do a lot of things for Con—I pick up his dry cleaning, I send over a maid service, I make sure he doesn’t run out of those stupid peanut butter crackers—but I don’t get rid of his girls. Those mistakes are on him.
But I keep it to myself. Sending the car isn’t outside the purview of my position, regardless of what it’s being used for. And anyway, the sooner I get out of here, the better I’ll feel.
I hate my boss more than I like to admit.
“I can take care of that,” I say, making a note.
“Perfect.” He turns to the coffee machine and begins to make more. “That’s all. Thanks for your chipper attitude today, Isabel.”
I’m tempted to tell him off. Con can be such a bastard sometimes.
Instead, I walk past him, my heels clacking on the hardwood floor, and head outside.
I take a few deep breaths on the stoop, gathering myself.
There are days, like today, when I want to quit more than anything in this world.
But then I remind myself that I don’t have a college degree, barely have a high school diploma, and can’t afford to stay in my house without some solid income.
Despite all Con’s flaws, he pays very, very well.
Probably out of guilt.
The man has to be aware of his own trash personality.
I head down the stoop, already jotting reminders in my planner about the day. I barely notice two guys sitting in a car right out front, both of them smoking and eating from a takeout bag. They stare at me as I wander past, and I frown back at them. But before I can ask what they’re doing, I get a text from Con.
Need that ride sooner than later. Please.