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)
“Except for the last clue,” Madison said. “That’s a dirty one, so they’ll probably petition to keep us out of heaven when we die.”
“I’ll beg for their forgiveness.” I opened the ice chest to grab a few quick scoops, but my boss’s driver pulled in front of the shop’s doors.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
Kristin and Madison shot me “No, the hell you won’t,” glances.
They’re probably right.
I stepped outside, not giving Bennie a chance to open the back door for me.
“Good afternoon, Miss March.” He watched me climb onto the backseat. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“You saw me yesterday when you took me to get Miss Swift’s groceries, and the day before that when you drove me to buy twenty different brands of mascara for a TikTok video.”
“Just making conversation.” He smiled. “Buckle your seatbelt, please.”
I obliged and leaned back against the leather. “Can we please take the long, scenic route to her condo?”
“I don’t think so.” His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Miss Swift is scared she’s going to die, Miss March.”
“Exactly,” I said. “We shouldn’t get in the way of God’s plan.”
He laughed and pulled onto the street, ignoring my request.
With every streetlight he sped through, my blood simmered.
Working at a publishing house—in the romance division, especially—was supposed to be a dream come true. The job description literally ticked off everything I wanted in life: Free new release paperbacks, chances to meet my favorite authors, and exclusive early copies of novels.
Yet, years of working under Hazel Swift—an airheaded heiress who knew nothing about books—quickly revealed that those things came with a price, and I never had enough free time to pay.
She pulled this “emergency” stunt on the eve of my birthday every year, and I had no right to be surprised. She always came up with some ridiculous reason why she needed me— “Someone scuffed my brand-new Manolos before the party!” “My boyfriend just dumped me!” “I’m having a panic attack and need you to come hold my hand”—and made me so exhausted that I gave in and worked on my big day, postponing whatever celebration plans my friends and I made.
That wasn’t happening this year, though.
I refused.
The moment I handled her nonexistent problem, I was treating myself to that blowout, putting on my brand-new Chanel dress, and spending a night on the town with whatever Kristin and Madison wrote on my scavenger hunt.
As I envisioned a night with a sexy book boyfriend, Bennie cleared his throat.
“We’re here,” he said. “You can go in now.”
“Thanks, Bennie.” I stepped out and swiped my key against the entry doors. Then I rode a private elevator up to the penthouse suite.
Bracing myself for bullshit, I pushed the doors open, and my eyes immediately begged me for bleach. My brain demanded a memory eraser.
Frozen still on her living room floor, Hazel was completely naked and crying on all fours.
I stepped back, ready to abandon her, but she spotted me.
“About time you showed up!” She whined. “Can you wash your hands and get over here, please?”
Leave and let her die, Chloe. She deserves it.
“Chloe!” She yelled. “Do it now!”
I dropped my bag to the floor and zombie-walked to the kitchen, taking extra time to squeeze the soap into my palms. I hummed the chorus to my favorite song before rinsing them, and then I took my precious time drying them off with a paper towel.
“What’s going on?” I finally walked over to her. “Is something wrong with your stomach?”
“No … It’s my vagina.”
“Your what?”
“My va-gi-na!” Tears fell past her cheeks. “The guy I had sex with last night went home hours ago, but he left something painful behind.”
I eyed the front door again.
It’s not like she would catch me.
“It burns like all hell, Chloe.”
“I don’t know anything about treating STDs.” I stepped back. “You need to get someone else.”
“He left the condom.” Her voice cracked. “It’s stuck inside me, and I can’t grab it.”
“So…”
“So, I need you to use your fingers and pull it out for me. Now.”
I might have to break my streak and murder you this year.
“That’s okay.” I pulled out my cell phone. “I think it’d be better if I called 9-1-1.”
“If you don’t do it, you’re fired, and I will never write a recommendation letter for anywhere else you want to go. I mean, I would never let you go anyway, but still…” She arched her back. “Get busy.”
I stared at her, silently weighing the pros and cons of helping her with this.
Pros? None. Cons? Potential homelessness, fingers that I’ll never look at the same way again.
“Chloe, it’s burning!”
I sighed and bent down, feeling every ounce of dignity leave my body. I picked up the hand mirror between her legs and spotted the rubber ring.
“It’s right here,” I said, grabbing her hand and maneuvering her pointer finger against the edge. “Push down on the band and pull it forward.”