Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I look down at my outfit today. I went with a long floral chiffon skirt that reached my ankles. It looks like it’s a baby blue but has pink and green pastel flowers. The top is a tight, sleeveless light-blue crotchet top with ruffles on the front. I called it the butterfly shirt when I got it. Of course, the shoes match the top because otherwise, I’m called a savage by my grandmother. “I wish I could take credit,” I tell her, “but my grandmother buys me all my clothes.”
“Your grandmother?” she states, shocked. “Mine got me a sweater that had tassels and fringe for Christmas.”
I chuckle at her as we make our way over to our desks. “Yeah, my grandmother is very special in that department.” I also don’t add she was a supermodel because that is just awkward. There is that, and then they go down the rabbit hole, and I have to explain who my family is. And let’s be honest, ain’t no one got time for that.
“See you later,” she says when she gets to her desk before I walk over to mine. Caine is obviously not in his office because, unlike me, he doesn’t have to be here at eight. No, Mr. I Expect You to Be Here at Eight Every Day saunters in closer to nine. It doesn’t really bother me since I get a full hour without him breathing down my neck in the morning.
“Morning,” Kevin greets when he stops by my desk on his way into the kitchen. “How are you this morning?”
I smile at him. “I’m good. How are you?”
“I’m doing great now that I saw you.” He smirks at me.
“Such a charmer,” I reply, trying to be polite. I look at him—typical frat-boy persona in a suit I know is tailored, so either he comes from money, or he doesn’t save anything. His hair is perfectly cut and styled to the side. His Rolex looks like it’s brand new, again probably a gift from his parents. Don’t get me wrong, I’m in the same boat he’s in, but nothing about him pulls me in. I wish it did. I wish I was attracted to him instead of the ogre I work for. An ogre who is married with a child. Who is scratched off the list completely; actually, he doesn’t even get a place on that list.
“See you later.” He winks at me, and I swear to God I hear eww in my head. I grab my white cup of coffee and bring it to my lips, taking a sip, when my office phone rings.
“Caine Griffin’s office, this is Grace. How may I help you?” I hold the phone with my shoulder, looking around for a pen.
“Hey, it’s me,” Caine says, and it sounds like he’s running around.
“Hi.” I put my coffee cup down and wait to hear what he has to say.
“I need you to do me a favor,” he states.
“Sure,” I reply, then I smile. “Just, who is this?” I roll my lips when he hisses into the phone.
“It’s me, Caine,” he grumbles, and I can picture his ugly face now. Okay, maybe not ugly, but I’m pretending it is to help me get through the day. “Who did you think it was?”
“I have no idea. You just said, ‘Hey, it’s me.’” I take my pen and tap it on the pad in front of me. “It could have been a whole slew of people. It could have been Justin Bieber. It could have been Pedro Pascal. It could have been, and I’m secretly bummed it’s not Jason Momoa.”
“Grace,” he snarls between clenched teeth, “I need you to do me a favor.”
“Well, sure thing, boss man,” I say, knowing he probably wanted to rush this phone conversation, and I’m pushing him.
“I’m not coming in today,” he informs me, and I secretly do a little cheer that I don’t have to deal with him for the whole day. “I need you to bring me the file we were working on yesterday.”
“Bring it where?” I look around the office to see if maybe he got in before me, but the only ones really here are the PAs.
“To my house.”
“Where you live?” I ask him, shocked.
“No,” he snaps, “where I hang my Bat costume.”
“Really, you think you’re Batman material?” I pfft and roll my eyes.
“I could be Batman material.” He now sounds like he’s defending himself.
“A Ben Affleck Batman, maybe.” I shake my head. “Definitely not Val Kilmer Batman and definitely not Christian Bale.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you,” he huffs.
“Which means I’m right and you’re wrong,” I counter. “Now, what do you need again?”
“I need you to bring me the file we were working on,” he says, his voice tense, “now.”
“I don’t have your address,” I inform him, hoping he just gives up and comes to get it himself.