Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I nod, but before she can start telling her story, our server interrupts us. “Good evening. I’m Chanel, and I’ll be your server. Can I get you a drink to get started?”
“Do you mind if I have a margarita?” Diana asks.
I stop myself from rolling my eyes. She’s just being thoughtful.
“Why would I mind?”
She smiles. “A margarita, please.”
“Just water for me,” I say.
Once Chanel leaves, Diana smiles. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that. I don’t even drink very much, as you know. But for some reason, a margarita sounds good. Refreshing.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” I say. “The state of New Mexico allows you to drink, so you should drink if you want.”
“I know that. And I’ll only have one drink. I never have more than one or two anyway.”
“Diana, if you feel like getting drunk off that pretty ass of yours, you’ll get no judgment from me.” I shrug. “I’m a fucking addict. I accept that. I’m dealing with it. It’s not always easy, but I’m determined this time. And part of the process is being okay with other people imbibing in my presence. It’s something people do. I would never dream of asking someone to turn down any number of drinks on my account.”
She gives me a look then, tilting her head. And for the life of me, I think she can see right through me.
“I’ll tell you why I left after less than two days on my job.”
“Only if you want to.”
“I do.” She purses her lips. “I think it will help me to talk about it. I suppose I’ll eventually have to call my father and mother to let them know.”
“No, you don’t. You’re an adult. You don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to.”
She smiles. “You know what? You’re right.”
Chanel brings the margarita, and Diana takes a sip, wincing. “This will be my only margarita. It’s good, but way too sweet.”
“I never liked sweet drinks either.” I take a sip of water.
“There’s a shocker.” She wipes a grain of salt from her lips and giggles. “So anyway, there was this project with the firm I was interested in—this amazing mountaintop resort, the first of its kind. Yesterday, my boss gave me several files to look at and asked me to give him my thoughts. One of them was that dream project.”
I furrow my brow. “That sounds good, not bad.”
“Yeah, and I totally thought it was. The problem is, when I was going over the plans, I found an issue that could cause some major problems.”
“And did you alert your boss?”
“I honestly wasn’t sure what to do. I found out from one of my colleagues that my boss knew about the issue already and didn’t want to fix it because of money, of course.”
“Of course,” I say.
“Anyway, I knew the right thing to do would be to bring it to the client’s attention, but after I talked to my colleague—he told me that everyone all the way up to the top already knows about it—I wasn’t sure what to do. So I called my dad.”
“What did your dad tell you to do?”
She sighs. “He didn’t tell me anything. He said I was a grown-up and had to figure this out for myself but to trust my conscience.”
“And your conscience said to tell the client.”
“That’s just it.” She frowns. “I had decided not to. For the good of my colleagues.”
I cock my head. “Seriously, Diana?”
“Well…yeah.” She bites her lip. “I’ve never had to think about what it might feel like to not have money. To worry about those things. And I didn’t want to put any of my colleagues in that position.”
Dragon scoffs. “First of all, Diana, your colleagues are all high-paid architects. Whether or not one of them has a pregnant wife, they’re still doing fine.”
Diana bites her lower lip. “Maybe. I just know they don’t have the kind of money I have.”
I chuckle. “No one has the kind of money you have, Diana.”
“You said you wouldn’t judge me.”
“I’m not judging you.” Then I realize how my voice just sounded. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She takes a small sip of her margarita. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“But I do understand.” I reach across the table, place my hand on hers. “At least I think I do. I want to.”
She smiles at me, squeezes my hand slightly. “I ended up telling the client anyway. I have no idea about the fallout. My boss found the email that I hadn’t yet sent and raised holy living hell.”
“How did your boss find the email?”
“The asshole sneaked into my cubicle and looked through my computer files.”
I drop my jaw. “Seriously? And you’re still worried about how this will affect your colleagues?”
She frowns, looking down at the table. “I have no idea who’s going to be affected by this. But I was angry enough over his snooping that I sent the email right in front of him. Then I left.”