Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66233 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
My cheeks get hot, and a ball of anxiousness flares to life in the centre of my chest. The uncomfortable feeling isn’t something I’ve felt in years, probably since I was in middle school. I find myself avoiding making eye contact with anyone, and I keep close to Mike.
I go through the motions of him taking my photo and printing off my badge, and before long, we are on the move again. I follow him upstairs, where we walk between long tables that are set up almost like my classroom. Except up here, no one is sitting down. Everyone is up and talking in small groups or watching giant screens hanging on each side of the room, where there are videos of games being played and numbers scrolling.
When Mike comes to a stop, I watch him press a button on the wall before he glances over his shoulder at me. “You’ll be in here.”
A smoky glass door slides open, revealing a huge corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows. Stepping into the room, I get so lost in the view out the clear glass that I walk toward it without thinking. Where I live near Modesto, I never get to see the Golden Gate Bridge and rolling green hills beyond it, and from here, it’s the entire stunning view.
“Assuming you’re Penny, I’d like to get to work… whenever you’re done,” a deep, masculine voice calls, bouncing around the room and making me jump.
I spin on my heels, holding my hand against my now-pounding heart.
Sitting casually behind a black-lacquered desk that is covered with papers and coffee cups is a dark-haired man with thick-framed glasses that are perched on the bridge of his nose. A neatly trimmed mustache and beard cover the lower half of his face. He’s a conundrum in his glasses that make him look a bit nerdy with the tattoos traveling down his arms ending just above his wrists. Without a doubt, if he put on a suit, he’d be almost unrecognizable—like Clark Kent was in Superman when he wore his specs.
When he stands, I shift on my heels, feeling like an idiot for not asking Christy for the dress code, because it’s obvious there isn’t one around here. The only difference between the man in front of me and everyone outside this room is that his plain black T-shirt looks expensive and freshly pressed. And so do his khaki shorts that surprisingly look cool on him.
But surely the head of the company, the person I’ll actually be working for, wouldn’t be dressed so casually. And wouldn’t Mike introduce us if he was? So this guy must be another employee. And a rude one at that.
“Are you in there?”
“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “The view is just gorgeous from here.” My cheeks warm. “I mean, the view outside is gorgeous. Not that you are gorgeous.” I squeeze my eyes closed and shake my head. “Not that you’re unattractive.”
“Now that we’ve established that you don’t find me hideous, may I ask why you’re late?”
“I’m not.” My brow puckers as he walks toward me.
“We start at seven.” He flips over his wrist to look at his fancy watch. “It’s after eight.”
“Christy told me to be here by eight,” I say, leaving out what I really want to ask, which is who the hell starts work at seven in the morning? I don’t even have to be at school by seven, and the doors open for children at eight. Does this guy come in an hour before the boss, maybe to prepare for the day?
But wouldn’t that be something his assistant does?
“Seems you two will be okay,” Mike mutters from where he’s standing near the door, interrupting the many questions I have, and I bite my bottom lip as the man in front of me turns to look at him with a grumpy scowl.
“Thanks, Mike. I’ve got it from here.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Mike focuses on me. “And nice meeting you. Have a good day, Penny.” His eyes glance at Mr. Grump. “Jace.”
And suddenly my lungs stop working when I realize who this guy is.
“You too,” I squeak out, lifting my hand to wave like an idiot, then watch him turn and walk out the door.
“Meetings start at seven. The office opens at eight,” who I now know is Jace Ellis, my temporary boss, says as soon as Mike is gone, and I plaster an apologetic smile on my face.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“Now you know.” He walks past me and touches a button on the wall, which opens up to a smaller office with the same view as his. “This is your space. I’m going to assume Christy didn’t lie and that you know how to type and answer a phone.”
“She didn’t lie,” I tell his back while he flips open a laptop on the desk.