Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24777 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
I stare at the older man in horror because this sounds like the worst psychobabble ever. Mr. Elliston is literally spewing stuff that a recruiter or a job coach would tell you. But instead, he’s warping the words so that it sounds like I’m the obstinate one.
“But you know that Bart and I only have my salary from Tootsie’s right now,” I say in a slow voice. “So if you fire me, we’ll have nothing.”
John shrugs, his gray eyes deceptively mild.
“That’s not my problem. Now, if you were a contributing team member, it would be my problem, but you’re not, so you’ll have to find another position. I’ll have your last paycheck for you tomorrow,” he says in a clip before standing up from the counter. “You can leave your apron on the hook over there,” he nods. Then, the tall man turns to leave, but I lose it then. I fall to my knees and begin to beg.
“Please,” I sob. “Don’t do this, Mr. Elliston. My father and I have no place to go. Don’t do this!”
The older man merely looks at me like I’m a bug he’s found squashed on the bottom of his shoe.
“Then accept my offer, Christy,” he says silkily. “I’ve been more than generous. You know that. Accept my offer, and your salary will double.”
This isn’t what I want. I’ve been sharing my body with the man of the house, and having this creep touch it would make me feel vile, not to mention polluted. But what can I do? As tears flow down my face, I nod.
“Okay,” I say in a whisper. “I’ll do it.”
“Perfect,” John says in a snappy tone, turning his gaze away from me. “Now get yourself cleaned up, and come to the nursery tomorrow night around seven, okay? You know Elliston Nursery over on Cogby and Range. We’ll have our first date there. And be sure to wear something sexy!”
Then, he exits the shop, whistling like nothing’s the matter. I stare at his tall form as it disappears, although inside, my heart’s already crumbling. I can’t imagine going on a date with John Elliston. The mere thought makes me feel nauseous, and I can’t stomach the thought of that asshole fondling my curves. But what choice do I have? I’ll lose my job otherwise … and likely lose Bart too.
9
Christy
I can’t believe I’m here. I choke back a sob as I slowly teeter towards Elliston Nursery, wobbly in my high heels. Why in the world is this happening? How in the world is this happening? I thought the #MeToo movement had ensured that young women would no longer be preyed upon by powerful men, but obviously, that’s not the case.
I swallow another sob while wiping surreptitiously at my eyes.
Shape up, Christy, the voice in my head admonishes. It does no good to show up at a date with tear tracks on your cheeks.
Still, I swallow hard as I approach the nursery. This sucks so bad because I had to lie to Bart to sneak out. We made love after an early dinner, and then I fed him some bullshit about meeting my friend Vanessa for a movie.
“Which movie?” he drawled lazily.
I stammered, suddenly off balance.
“Oh, you know that new one about a group of young women living their best lives in Brooklyn. That one.”
Bart chuckled before leaning in to press a kiss to my cheek.
“Well, I haven’t heard of that one, but I’m sure it’ll be entertaining. Enjoy yourself, honey.”
I merely smiled before getting dressed and heading out. Of course, beneath my big coat is the skankiest outfit ever, and I groan as I look down at myself. I’m wearing a bustier that shows off my enormous tits, as well as a purple pleather miniskirt with fishnet heels and matching violet stilettos. The whole look is very “80’s hooker” and I’m hoping it turns John Elliston off. I’m hoping that he’s repulsed by the gobs of mascara on my lashes, and the weird, ratty ponytail I’m currently sporting.
But instead, when I enter the nursery, I’m immediately whisked to a private area by an employee who seems to recognize me.
“Mr. Elliston is waiting,” the young man murmurs. “In here, please.”
I step into a greenhouse, which has been lit up with fairy lights. A romantic ambience is palpable in the golden illumination, and my stomach clenches in on itself. Oh god, no. This is not what I want, but how can I stop it?
The interior of the greenhouse is intimate and warm, and as I make my way through a bevy of potted plants and towering trees, I come upon a table for two with a pitcher of water on it, as well as a drinking glass and a tub of Crisco. I mean, a huge tub of Crisco too. The kind you get from Costco that lasts ten years. I stare at these items, perplexed. I thought this was going to be a romantic date, but I suppose everyone has their own version of “romance.”