Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 101(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
However, it’s obvious that nothing’s changed. Seymour called me in for a meeting nearly half an hour ago, and I assumed that it’d be about something work-related. But instead, he’s been begging me to put him into contact with Star and Lacy again.
“I don’t think I can,” I say in a polite tone. “Star and Lacy don’t work for me. They work for City Girls.”
Seymour presses his palms together in a pleading gesture.
“Yes, but the agency is screening my calls. Whenever I ask for Star and Lacy, the receptionist says they’re completely booked up! How can that be?”
I shrug.
“They’re attractive women. Lots of guys want to take them out.”
It’s obvious that Seymour’s obsessed with the blondes, and I honestly can’t blame him because I’m pretty sure they’re the only women who have given him the time of day in who knows how long—even if they were paid an incredibly hefty sum to do so. But my manager’s insistent begging is relentless.
“Come on!” the man-child whines. “I know you know them! Not only that, but you’re friends with Star and Lacy! You could set me up on another date with them if you wanted to, just friends with friends. Don’t you think you owe it to me after what I did for you? You wouldn’t have gotten this job back if it weren’t for me!”
“Yeah, thanks,” I manage through gritted teeth. “I appreciate it. But I can’t, Seymour. I’m sorry, but I don’t have that kind of pull.”
Then, I excuse myself and slink out of his office. Seymour’s practically crying now, but it’s not my fault. There’s really nothing I can do when it comes to Star and Lacy, especially since I no longer speak to Barron.
My heart drops because I just can’t stop thinking about Barron, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’m miserable without him. I’d gotten so used to seeing him and talking to him every day, and now suddenly, he’s right back out of my life and it sucks.
I can’t even find it in myself to block his number. He sends me lots of text messages, and there are lots of missed calls too. But I’ve been refusing to respond to them, for my own sanity. I can’t be involved with a guy who could have sex right in front of his own sister! That’s gross and perverted, and I’m not going there.
Yet I miss my handsome lover. I miss Barron’s stupid jokes and I miss cuddling up next to him on the couch and watching movies together until we fall asleep. I miss moaning into his mouth as we shared filthy kisses. I miss screaming as he fucked me into oblivion for the billionth time of the day.
My relationship with Barron was my first real, serious relationship with a man—with the perfect man, at that—and I just can’t believe that it had to end like this. I feel horrible, awful, distraught, and downright pathetic. It’s been like this for ages now, and yet the depression doesn’t seem to be lifting.
I shake my head. I need to take control and own this situation. That’s the first step to getting better!
But getting Barron off my mind seems impossible as I slowly push my maid’s cart to a stop right in front of the presidential suite where we first met. This is the place where we first laid eyes on each other, first had sex, first got to know each other…
With a heavy sigh, I give the door a few loud knocks before pulling my key card out to let myself inside. I’ll be as quick as possible about cleaning this room, then I’ll move on to the next one.
When I step inside, the living room is quiet and mostly tidy, thank goodness. It looks just the same as it always does, with elegant beige furniture and large picture windows overlooking the town. A vase of fresh flowers sits on the sideboard, and I inhale for a moment, breathing in their perfumed scent.
But I’m not a guest, and it’s not my right to be enjoying these flowers. I keep my head down, trying my best not to think about the things that went on in this room the last time I was inside it as I pull out my earbuds to pop them into my ears before grabbing my feather duster.
I’m about to start dusting off the long buffet table when suddenly, there’s a noise that makes me jump. I turn my head to look toward the bedrooms, which is where I think the noise came from, and I narrow my eyes, straining to see if I’ll hear it again.
Is this really happening? What is up with this particular suite anyways? I think I’ve learned my lesson after the last time, so if whoever is staying here right now is in the middle of having sex then I’m going to be out of here faster than they can blink. But it doesn’t sound like sex noises, to be honest. There’s a loud thud and then a crash. Holy shit, what’s going on? Is someone in trouble?