Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
There it is.
You’d think that knowing it’s coming would mean it doesn’t faze me, but somehow, despite the fact that I’ve been dealing with this routine of ours for a decade doesn’t take the sting out it. Even though I’m twenty-eight and should know better, there’s still a little part of me that wants her to call because she wants to know what’s up with me. Not just because she needs something.
And more often than not, what she needs ends up having a detrimental effect on my bank account. An “investment opportunity” here, a reminder that in order to make money, you have to spend money! there . . .
“Hmm, no, I don’t think you’ve mentioned it,” I say, dropping a tea bag into one of the company mugs.
“Okay, well, Janine—you remember her, from that physical therapy training class I started, but then had to quit because the teacher was a jerk? Anyway, Janine’s taken this class about being a virtual assistant—a VA, they’re called. And now she said she’s looking at making six figures this year. Can you even believe it?”
It’s a rhetorical question, so I ignore it and get straight to the point. “How much does the training cost?”
“I’ll message you a link with all the details, and baby, of course you know it would be a loan! Once I finish the course, I’ll make back the cost immediately and will reimburse you every penny and then some.”
Uh huh. I’ve heard that one before. A lot.
“Sure, send me the details,” I say. “But I’ve gotta get back to work.”
Then, realizing that’ll just be fuel for her work-too-hard protests, I tack on a lame excuse. “I’ve got a new boss—a by-the-book type.”
“Oh, you didn’t tell me you had a new boss. What was the old one’s name? Peter?”
“Louise,” I reply. I don’t think I even know a Peter, but I guess at least she’s pretending to act interested.
“The new one’s a dick, huh?” she asks, as I hear the clank of a coffee mug on her end.
“Eh. He’s alright.” I add hot water to my mug. “Just super uptight and corporate.”
“Ugh, that’s the worst,” she says with genuine feeling, and I have to smile, because my mom’s the least corporate person you can imagine. I can at least fake it, but I’m pretty sure she’d straight up wither at the mere sight of a cubicle wall. It’s one of the things I love about her, even when she drives me crazy.
“Okay, well, I’ll let you go, sweetie. Look out for that link about the training!”
“Will do,” I promise, just a touch tiredly. “Love you.”
I hang up the phone and turn to head back to my desk only to go still when I realize I’m not alone in the kitchen.
“You,” I say. “Again.”
“Me,” Thomas says, matching my inflectionless tone. “Again.”
He walks calmly to the fancy coffee machine and sets a mug in place, punching a button.
Other than when he was behind me at the bar—when he touched my back—this is the first time I’ve seen him standing up. He’s not the tallest man I’ve ever seen, but there’s a fit athleticism about him that doesn’t quite meld with the shrimpy, bookish identity I’ve created for the guy.
To make myself feel better, I look down at his feet, hoping to reassure myself with those stupid tassels, but they do nothing to make me feel better.
I hate this day.
I swallow and tap the edge of my phone against my mug lightly. Nervously. “It was my mom. I always feel guilty not picking up.”
“Ah yes. Must appease mothers,” he murmurs noncommittally.
“You have one?” I blurt out.
His eyebrows go up. “Do I have a mother? Exactly how corporate am I that you think I wasn’t born to a human female?”
I purse my lips. “So. You heard my conversation.”
“Small room,” he says, gesturing around, then taps his ear. “Perfect hearing.”
Shit.
“Look, it wasn’t—”
“It’s fine,” he cuts in, his face never changing expression. “Forget it.”
Thomas starts to exit the kitchen, and I step towards him quickly. “You’re not going to fire me, are you? Because I said you were boring and corporate?”
His eyes cut to mine. “Well, your actual words were uptight and corporate. But I’ll be sure to add boring to the list of my attributes, according to Mackenzie Austin.”
I exhale and close my eyes. “Any chance you have a shovel? Something I can use to dig my way out of this?”
His lips twitch slightly. “Sorry. No.”
“Awesome,” I say with feeling. I point to the door. “Sooooo, I’m gonna head back to my desk now?”
“An excellent idea.”
I speed-walk out of the kitchen, but before I can round the corner to safety . . .
“Mac,” he says again.
I turn.
“My mother,” he says. “Her name is Mary. I feel guilty not picking up her phone calls too.”
Well, well. Looks like he’s at least part human after all.