Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Maybe I’m a little bitter because I looked freaking good today. Would it have killed him to split from his office and catch a glimpse of me?
“Thirty is the new twenty-five.” I give my dark hair a flip.
“Thirty looks really good on you, babe,” Kim agrees, lifting her glass toward me. “So do your boobs, if you don’t mind me saying.”
My chest pops out.
Popcorn kernels fly every which way when Viv gestures toward my breasts—she doesn’t hold her liquor well—her sassy grin staring holes into the front of my chest.
I raise my brows expectantly; waiting.
Vivian’s next words do not disappoint as she slurs out loud, “Now we just have to get you laid for your birthday.”
“Our gift to you.”
Their gift to me . . . Oh shit, no.
My already hot face burns. “You did not hire me an escort.”
I’m hissing, leaning over the table so they can hear me, horrified.
They are talking so loud, and now I am, too.
“Shh, relax.” Vivian’s inebriated hands wave me off. “God, no—I don’t have the money for that—”
“But if we did have the monies, we totally would have,” Gen adds.
A wobbly nod. “Totally would have.”
“We’re going to find you a man in here to bang.”
Viv claps her hands, hopping on the seat of the booth, making the whole bench bounce. “Yes, yes. We love that idea.” She pops her head up over the booth, determined to assess the pool of men flooding the overcrowded bar. “Let’s see, there’s a guy over there with some heavy-duty sideburns that could be promising.”
“Sideburns are for werewolves,” Kim announces, sitting on her knees so she can get a better view of the perimeter. “What about Mr. Sunshine State there with the blond hair and sunglasses? He looks fuckable.”
Oh. My. God. “Would you keep it down?”
“Relax.” Viv pats my hand. “No one can hear us.”
“Sunglasses in a bar?” Genevieve scoffs, watching the guy wearing a pink polo and shades. “He’s either a total douchebag or he’s high as a kite and doesn’t want people to know. Next.”
Vivian’s shrewd eyes hit the bar . . . move toward the pool tables . . . scan the tables along the back of the room. Then she raises her hand and makes an “ooo, ooo” sound like she’s waiting to be called on in class.
Deadpanning, Gen says, “Yes, Viv, can we help you?”
“What about that guy? The one in the dark suit?”
She points; I push down her arm.
“There are twenty guys here wearing dark suits, you’re going to have to be more specific.” Kimberly takes a sip of her drink, rolling her eyes.
“You guys . . .” I begin weakly, defenseless against them.
See, the thing is: I don’t like hooking up with random strangers—that’s Vivian’s gig, not mine. Another thing? I’m stupidly holding out for one passionate night from a certain someone who didn’t know I even existed until yesterday when I quit, despite the many times we’ve been in the same room together, no fraternizing policy or not.
I glumly recite the rules from the Employee Handbook in my head:
“No employee of Roam, Inc. may date another employee who is separated by more than one level in the heirarchy. This includes an employee who reports to their boss’s counterpart in another department.”
And it got better, via an addendum memo send round only thirty days ago:
“No employee of Roam, Inc. may date an employee who reports to their boss’s counterpart in another department.”
I’ve read these rules no less than one hundred times.
Wishful thinking.
Daydreaming.
“Employees of Roam, Inc. who disregard this policy will be subject to disciplinary actions, up to and including immediate termination.”
Termination: that was slightly sobering.
I drink from the glass in front of me, disregarding my limit, and then shake my head when Vivian elbows me in the rib cage, knocking me out of my stupor.
“Huh?”
“That one.” Her tone is stalwart. Absolute. “The one with the tailor-made suit jacket, messy hair. Drop-dead gorgeous jaw—”
“Holy—”
“Shit.”
It’s a collective gasp from my friends. Collective cursing.
Collective covering.
All three of my friends fly back on their asses and duck for cover.
“What the ever loving . . . What the hell is he doing here?” Kimberly breathes, putting a napkin in front of her face. To mask it?
“The nerve of him.” Viv ducks under her cardigan like it’s a cloak of invisibility. “This is our drinking hole, not his.”
Gen’s eyes are narrowed into dangerous slits as she stares at me, hiding behind the bowl of popcorn. “Cover your face, or he’ll see you.”
They must be really drunk.
“Who are you three yammering about?” I take another sip, blissfully unaware.
“Pey, cover your damn face.” Kimberly scowls at me, tossing her drink straw in my direction. “It’s moody boss pants.”
Moody boss pants?
“It’s freaking Rome, you drunken idiot,” Gen says with a whack to my leg under the table.
His name leaves her lips, igniting a gleeful spark deep in my belly.