Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 61160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Dressed in a dark blue pencil skirt that hugged her hips in all the right places and a silky nude colored blouse that matched her towering pumps, she made me lose track of whatever I was about to ask next.
“Hey there, Chloe!” Hazel smiled. “We were just talking about you.”
“Good news, I hope.” She turned her back to me.
“Great news!” Hazel made spirit fingers with her hands. “I was telling Mr. Carrington that I handle the heavy things in the office, and you handle the light, insignificant things that can take up a lot of my day.”
“Yes.” Chloe still didn’t look at me. “That’s … exactly right. Speaking of which, I handled the social media meeting notes for tomorrow, and I have a team working on the gala.”
“Doesn’t your recent promotion mean that you report directly to me, and not Miss Swift anymore, Miss March?” I asked.
“I don’t see why I have to speak to you, if I’m getting my work done.” There was a smile in her voice. “Would you prefer that I sit in your office and chat all day?”
“You haven’t stopped by my office at all.” I moved in front of her, tired of speaking to her backside—despite the stunning view. “You can’t avoid certain conversations forever.”
“I feel like this little chat you two are having is really about something else,” Hazel interrupted us. “Is this double-speak of some kind?”
“If there’s something you’d like to discuss with me, I’ve told you that you can make an appointment between five o’clock and five fifteen,” Chloe said to me. “I’m more than happy to schedule you.”
“I need a lot more than fifteen minutes with you.”
“Then feel free to make as many appointments as you need, Mr. Carrington. You can make more than one.”
“I’ll see that I do that, Miss March,” I said, stepping closer. “Thank you for attempting to lay down the terms and conditions for how you think the next eight months are going to go.”
“Oh, I know exactly how they’re going to go.”
“Okay, I’ve got it!” Hazel said. “This conversation is really about the Shakespearean contest we’re hosting in the winter, right? Chloe wants to restrict the performance time to fifteen minutes, and Mr. Carrington thinks people should get a longer time onstage because the ‘terms and conditions’ give them eight months to prepare.”
Silence.
“That’s exactly it, Miss Swift,” Chloe said. “That two-thousand-dollar, Deep Reading Course you’re taking is starting to pay off.”
“I know, right!” She smiled. “By the way, Chloe, while you’re here—” She picked up my “tea” and held it in front of Chloe’s face. “Our new friend here likes tea very much, and I made him a cup so he could feel more at home.”
“His home is in London, right?” Chloe raised her eyebrow. “Why didn’t you put any milk in it?”
“Ugh, fine!” She tossed it into the trash. “I’ll let you make his tea, then. I have a private yoga instructor waiting in my office. If anyone asks for me, tell them I’m reading Tolkien books to make it sound like I love the self-help genre, okay?”
“Tolkien’s books are in the fantasy genre,” Chloe and I said in unison.
“Oh wow. Fantasy makes me sound even deeper.” She smiled. “Let’s do that one instead!” She left the room without another word, and Chloe finally looked at me.
“Are you finally ready to act like an adult, Miss March? When are you due?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she walked to a cabinet and pulled out a ceramic tea kettle, an infuser, sugar, and a tin box of loose leaf tea.
Opening the fridge, she set out a glass container of milk and a small bowl of honey.
Then she walked away.
I hesitated a few moments before following her, but when I turned the corner, she was long gone.
Bloody hell…
* * *
At sunset, I turned on the TV in my office and flipped through the channels, stopping at the sole U.K. news channel against my better judgment.
Against a beautiful backdrop of St. Paul’s Cathedral, my father was giving some type of speech.
“My son and I spoke on the phone this morning,” he said. “There’s no bad blood between us at all, and although he understands that he is no longer in line for the throne, he is still loved by all of us in this family.”
You’re such a liar.
“I’m also thrilled that he’s an accomplished entrepreneur in his own right. I’m also very proud, and—”
I flipped the channel to a game show mid-sentence, less than impressed with his latest act. He was sending me daily thirty-page text messages that said the exact opposite.
I had yet to finish any of them because curse words littered every other paragraph.
“Mr. Carrington?” An intern knocked on my door.
“Yes?”
“You said to grab you the moment I saw Miss March in one place for over ten minutes?”
“Yes,” I said. “Where is she?”