Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
“Friday, I’ll send a car. Be ready by four.”
“Got it,” I squeak and skip out of the room with my phone to my ear. “LAURIE! Guess what we’re doing this weekend.”
Chapter Four
He notices me.
The week dragged so hard, but I worked my ass off to clear our schedules for the weekend so that we only had this presentation to think about. Mr. Conti wasn’t happy when I added an extra hour to each of his workdays, but I told him in a polite way, to suck it up.
I don’t want to work all weekend. I want to spend it focusing on my favorite girl.
My favorite girl who is pressing the button for the air-conditioning above her head over and over again. Her mouth moving as she counts.
I leave her to it; she’s not bothering anybody as it doesn’t make a clicking noise. Mr. Conti does give her an odd look though. He’s sitting opposite us both in this empty private jet. I imagine he’ll move soon. He doesn’t appreciate visible distractions.
“He is so hot,” Laurie whispers in my ear for the fiftieth time.
“Ewww, please stop,” I respond on a breath while pushing my glasses up my nose. “He’s married and he’s old.”
“He’s not even at silver fox status yet, he’s so not old,” she hisses back, eyeing my boss one more time. I pinch her thigh until she yelps. “I mean… not entirely. He has what, maybe fifteen grays?”
He has a few grays at his temples but not loads. I have the urge to count them now. So does Laurie.
When he feels us both staring at him he slowly looks up from his newspaper and glances nervously between us. “What?”
“Just counting your grays,” Laurie admits because she’s got absolutely no filter. She slaps a hand over her mouth.
I gape at her. “She’s got Tourette’s,” I explain rapidly. “She didn’t mean that. We weren’t counting your grays.”
“We were,” Laurie blurts, unable to stop herself. “Seventeen grays.”
“Do your exercises,” I hiss as she physically holds her lips together with her fingertips.
Mr. C sighs and looks at his paper. “This is going to be a long weekend.”
“POKE YOUR WEEKEND IN YOUR EYE.” Laurie tips a couple of pills into her mouth and swallows them with a large gulp of soda water. “I’m so sorry, guys. I’m nervous. Can I have the games page from that?”
Mr. C hands her the entire newspaper and she snatches it with gratitude. I hand her a pen and watch her start on the crossword puzzle.
That leaves Mr. C and me to just sit and look around awkwardly.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat and the silence. “Are you prepared for tomorrow?”
“I am. Are you?”
I tap my temple. “Got all of it in here.”
He nods and we lapse into an awkward silence.
Well, that is until Laurie yanks on her own fiery red braid, looks at her hand and snaps, “Stop it. Stupid limb.”
I pat her wrist and smile at Mr. C. “This weekend isn’t going to be long enough.”
We touch down just over an hour later, grab our bags and make the long journey to the hotel. The casino hotel.
As expected, Laurie and I have our own room and Mr. C has a room along the hall across the way. It’s such a nice place. The walls are clean, and it smells clean. The room looks clean, but I strip the bedding and put my own bedding on it anyway, getting tangled in the corner when it pings back over my face.
I don’t tell people about this little quirk of mine because they’d definitely think me weird.
I just love the smell of my own bed when I sleep. It’s not even about the germs… okay, so it kind of is about the germs and dead skin cells and hidden sperm stains. But whatever.
I don’t mind it and neither should anyone else.
“And you wonder why you’re single…” Laurie asks with her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth.
There are two doubles in this room and windows overlooking the strip, plus a fancy bathroom that I’m going to utilize soon.
“I don’t wonder why I’m single, you wonder why I’m single.”
“You’re a fine piece of female-candy,” she says and smacks my ass as I crawl backwards off my bed.
“Ouch,” I hiss rubbing the sore spot. “I’m not any kind of candy. I don’t want to be with anybody.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “You’ve got to let somebody into that scheduled little heart of yours.”
“You’re in it. You’re enough, thanks.”
Laughing, she goes back into the bathroom and I hear her rinse and spit. “Yes, but I don’t give you orgasms.”
I do not want to think of orgasms right now.
“I’m hungry,” I comment, completely ignoring her. It’s not like she can talk, she’s single too after all and life isn’t all about shacking up with somebody. Can’t I be married to my work?