Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
I wasn’t counting on getting caught in Beau’s vortex of perfection, of course, but I can’t say that I regret the time. Even when I’m a bumbling idiot in his presence, it’s better than not being in his presence at all.
And yes, I’m fully aware of how pathetic I am.
I power past my cubicle, rubbing at my cheeks aggressively to rid them of the scorching-fire feeling that’s settled beneath my skin. The adrenaline dump of five whole minutes alone with Beau has me wide awake, but my rosy face tells the tale of its price. Maybe it’s Maybelline? More like, maybe it’s Beau.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Avery calls toward me, jogging to catch up with me as I move toward the hallway that leads to the copy room. “Where’s the fire?” she says through a laugh. “There’s no way in hell you’re just going to walk past my desk and not say hello, friend.”
“Ave, I live with you.” A sigh escapes my lungs, but I keep walking. “I see you every day. Hell, we rode to work together this morning.”
She falls into step beside me, our high heels making a muffled clip-clop on the carpeted hall. “Yeah, but it’s been, like, three hours since then, and mama’s got a hankering for some chips and queso. Let’s go get lunch.”
“No.” I shake my head on a laugh as she shimmies her shoulders and shakes her long, dark hair excitedly.
“Please, June!” She holds both of her hands together as if she’s going to start praying to Jesus right here in the middle of the office. “You know how all-consuming my food cravings get. I’ll be thinking about chips and queso all freaking day! I won’t be able to work.”
“You won’t be able to work if we’re at lunch either,” I retort. “And I’m too busy. I have to get your dad these copies, and then Seth wants me to be available as a runner for his team meeting in thirty minutes.”
She snorts and rolls her eyes. “You act like that stuff is more important than chips and queso, and I know my best friend wouldn’t dare be so blasphemous about our favorite snack.”
I laugh. “Of course not. You know I’d drown myself in cheese dip if given a good opportunity, but Ave, I actually care about this job.”
She wrinkles up her nose. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” I say, stopping slightly to shake her shoulder with my one free hand. “I know it’s a foreign concept, but if I wanted an easy road, I would have just worked for my father.”
“Ohhhh!” she exclaims with eyes dancing. “Maybe that’s what we should do! We should quit this job and go work for your dad. He’d let us get away with anything, and we could swim in queso every day!”
“Avery, honey,” I say, voice cajoling. “I’m going to go make these copies for your dad, okay?”
“Ugh. You’re so boring.” She blows out a breath. “What am I supposed to do now?”
I shrug. “Work?”
“Yuck! No thanks,” she scoffs. “Oh! I know. I’ll go get a spray tan. Want to come?”
“Nope,” I call over my shoulder, purposely heading back on my path, down the hallway and toward the copy room. She flashes me the finger and then blows me a kiss before retreating back down the hall toward our cubicles, destination God knows where.
I scan my badge to get in the copy room door, sidle around Chris McKenzie’s assistant Carla as she hole-punches and binds several pitch booklets, and get to work. I have twenty pages, front and back, that Neil needs several sets of for files. It’s a little archaic, making copies of contracts when we’re in the digital age of everything being online, but both Mr. Banks and Mr. McKenzie are old-school sticklers for keeping backup hard copies on file.
After power went down for the whole city last week and our internet was on the fritz for two hours while everyone panicked, I can see why. I mean, Florida isn’t exactly known for consistently perfect weather. Hurricane season always brings uncertainty.
The machine whirs to life, and I scan the first page, setting the screen to spit out double-sided pages in sets of twenty.
“Sorry,” I apologize to Carla, laughing when the rumble of the machine damn near vibrates the floor.
She rolls her eyes with a laugh. “No worries. That dinosaur might as well be friends with Chris Pratt, it’s so old.” She stacks her booklets and scoops them up, gesturing to me with their bulk. “I’m done anyway. The room is all yours.”
“See ya,” I say politely as she leaves the room. Everyone here has been truly friendly, and for that, I’m grateful. It’s always scary starting something new, and this job, in particular, is something akin to jumping in open water with a bunch of sharks. Everyone is rabid, everyone is focused, and more than anything, everyone wants to win.