Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 80576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Again, as always, her hair is pinned into a makeshift up-do.
“Is there anything else, sir?”
My gaze drifts to her face because there was a subtle bite of venom coating that last word as it left her tongue.
“I need you to draft up an email to Mrs. Blanchard since our previous attempts to connect with her have gone unanswered.”
Arietta glances at my laptop. “Do you have an outline for that, or should I wing it?”
Wing it?
I bow my head to hide the grin that has popped onto my lips.
“I mean, if you don’t have a general idea of what you’d like the email to say, I can craft something with a friendly tone that might garner a response from Mrs. Blanchard.”
That’s what I’m looking for, so I nod in agreement. “Do that.”
She scuffs the toe of one of her shoes against the floor. “I’ll start on that now.”
“Send it to me once you have a draft complete,” I instruct. “I’ll fine-tune it before we send it to Mrs. Blanchard.”
It’s a simple task. I expect she’ll be done within the hour. If it hits a chord within Clarice, there is a chance I’ll hear from her today.
That’s the goal.
“Is there anything else?” Arietta asks again out of habit.
She’s accustomed to me assigning her at least a dozen tasks each morning. Since I sent her an email last night with a number of them listed, I have nothing new to add now.
“Get the draft of the email done first.” I point a finger past her toward where her desk sits outside my office. “Once that is complete, you can begin work on everything else I outlined in the email I sent last night.”
Since she hadn’t responded to it before I went to bed, I can only assume that she read it.
“All right.” She takes a step back. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”
I won’t need anything, so I drop my gaze to my desk. “That’s all, Arietta.”
The next sound I hear is the door of my office softly clicking shut.
I turn in my chair to face one of the windows that offers a view of Lower Manhattan. The sun is rising in the distance. Many of the millions who call New York City home will be getting their days started. Living life in this city should offer a daily respite from solitude, but for me, it never has.
It never will.
***
Two unnecessary telephone conversations later, I finally lean back in my chair. A potential client called. They easily passed the initial criteria for a phone meeting with me, but I won’t be taking them on.
Their ideas for smart investments don’t align with mine.
I refuse to work with someone who believes it’s wise to sink a quarter of a million dollars into a dog acting class run by their mistress.
When said client called back after I explained that he should find another wealth management company, he called me a ‘loser’ and hung up on me.
Substantial wealth at a young age rarely comes without issues.
He’s twenty-six and already making mistakes that will cost him for years, seeing as how he confessed in a hushed tone that both his wife and mistress are expecting babies.
I wake up my laptop with a touch of the trackpad.
My email program immediately comes into view. I scan the new messages, stopping at one that arrived from Miss Voss less than fifteen minutes ago.
I read the subject line once and then again to make sure I’m not seeing things.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I click on the email to open it.
Subject: The Dick
Hey Sinclair,
Mr. Calvetti is as ornery as ever today.
He scolded me for taking a message from a woman who asked me to pass along this to him – “your lips are the purest form of pleasure this side of the Mississippi!”
She may not be a poet, but she is obviously head over heels for him, so I thought I’d play cupid and give him the message.
Dominick (The Dick) Calvetti told me once again to ignore all messages women leave for him.
He’s a cruel bastard with a gorgeous face and rock hard abs. I imagine he has those. He’s 6’3” and works out every morning. He has to be built under those suits, right? I know that the nickname I gave him is based on his attitude, but I sometimes wonder if it “fits” in other ways if you know what I mean. Even if it does, I still loathe him. He’s the worst boss on both sides of the Mississippi.
I attached a picture of the lingerie I bought for my date tonight. I snapped a selfie in the mirror this morning since you were still asleep.
Let me know what you think, roomie.
Arietta xoxo
P.S. Tomorrow we’re getting you a new phone. I miss texting. Emailing is for old people like The Dick.