Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Granted I hadn’t seen the girl in a few years, but I remember her having a sorority girl vibe that wouldn’t fit in with the company. She was too golden, too glowing. Would clients take her seriously? I was surprised Albert was taking her seriously. He was a nice guy, one of the nicest we had, but he usually had a keen sense for who would and wouldn’t be a good fit. Either she had more depth than I remembered, or he was being swayed by his affection for Jake. “I want to be on the panel for the third interview,” I said brusquely. “Send me a calendar reminder.”
“Can do.” Albert did it immediately. It would go to my executive assistant, Mrs. Flannigan, and she’d put it on my schedule if I wasn’t busy. I was always busy though, so I’d have to tell her to move my afternoon around.
“Something else on your mind?” Albert asked when I didn’t move from his office door.
It took me a second, but I put my finger on the other thing that was bothering me. It was Albert’s damn shirt. It was good quality, but it didn’t fit him. It probably looked fine in his jacket, but out of it, he looked like hell. Albert looked like hell in general, I realized, and made a mental note to ask about this later. Right now, I had to make sure Mrs. Flannigan moved my schedule around to accommodate this interview.
I needed to see Selena Sinclair in action myself before any job offers were extended.
Selena’s interview was at two. Mrs. Flannigan cleared my schedule, and I was just about to head to the conference room when I heard the sweet, grandmotherly tones of my least favorite client coming from the reception area. Audrina Kloss, from the heavy notes of cinnamon wafting in through my cracked door, had come bearing gifts.
Fuck.
Flannigan was trying to handle her, but the old rich widow wasn’t someone to be handled. Not because she had a spine of steel and an iron will, but because she didn’t pick up on subtle hints, strong suggestions, or even full-on commands. She knew what she wanted, and she simpered her way through any obstacle that crossed her path.
And right now, she wanted to talk to me.
Inevitably, Flannigan appeared at my door, apologetic, exasperated, and against-her-will charmed. Mrs. Kloss had that effect on everyone. “Sir, I know you’re on your way to a meeting, but–”
“It’s fine. Send her in.” I shrugged into my suit jacket as Mrs. Kloss came through the door. A clear sign I was on my way out, not that she would pay attention.
“Dominic!” she beamed at me. “I brought you your favorite.” She put a small wicker basket down on my desk. A thick cloth napkin was folded around whatever was inside so I didn’t know what my favorite was, but from the scent, she was right. It would taste damn good.
Not that I’d eat it. I stuck to a strict, clean diet. Sugar and processed carbohydrates didn’t make the cut.
“So kind of you, Mrs. Kloss,” I said evenly, stepping around my desk in hopes that the delicious scent would stop invading my nostrils. No such luck. “As Mrs. Flannigan mentioned, I’m on my way out, but I’m glad you’re here. I want to talk about the Christmas ball.”
“Oh, good! Me too!” She clapped her hands together. Mrs. Kloss was ninety-two and looked it with her wispy white hair and frail body that was currently swamped in a Christmas sweater and a long, lacey green skirt, but she had the energy and enthusiasm of a small child. It was exhausting. I spent half of my time with her wanting to tell her to sit down already, to take it easy. All that bouncing couldn’t be good for her increasingly delicate bones. I spent the other half wanting to sit down myself.
I steeled my voice. “I don’t know if–”
“It’s a big one!” Mrs. Kloss’s eyes twinkled at me from behind her wire-rim glasses that magnified her bright blue eyes and made me feel like she was inspecting me with a microscope. “I’m sure you know why.”
I had no fucking idea, but I nodded gamely. “Of course I do, Mrs. Kloss. That’s why I want to get a lunch on the books this week. We have a lot to talk about.”
She started off on a tangent about a shortage of twinkle lights and her favorite champagne. My mind went to a grimmer place. Mrs. Kloss shouldn’t be talking about buying enough twinkle lights to fill the North Ballroom or enough champagne.to drown the 500 guests who were usually in attendance. If she was going to live to be a hundred like she always said, she was going to have to start worrying about buying champagne for herself.