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’m Annie,” she replies. “I’m your temp.”
“What? Why?” My heart beats fast in my chest as my hand grips the cup of coffee in my hand tighter. I storm toward Loren’s office, finding her on the phone. She takes one look at me and hangs up. “Who the fuck is that?”
“That’s Annie, and she’s your temp.” She folds her hands on her desk.
“Loren, why is there a temp at the desk?” My jaw is clenched so tight.
“Grace called in sick,” she states, and I don’t know why I do a little sigh of relief. “This morning at six, she left a message and sent me a text.”
“So, she’s coming back?” I look at her, waiting for her to answer.
“She didn’t tell me otherwise.” She shrugs. “All I know is she’s not here today.”
“Thank you. Send her home. I don’t need anyone to work at the desk. Grace is up to date on everything, so I’ll be fine for a day.”
“Okay,” Loren says, and I walk into my office and shut the door. I try to work the whole day, but all I can think of is why she called in sick. Is she sick, or is she avoiding me? I don’t blame her for avoiding me.
That question haunts me the whole morning, so finally, at noon, I go back home and chill with Meadow. The next morning, Mrs. Potter shows up again as I walk out to go to work. When I walk in, her desk is again empty. I pull out my phone and call her number. It rings three times before going to voicemail.
“Hi, you know what to do. If you don’t, hang up.” I shake my head before walking into Loren’s office.
“She’s not here,” I state, and Loren just looks at me.
“I know,” she says. “She isn’t feeling well.”
“Bullshit,” I snarl, now pissed. Going to my office, I slam the door closed. Putting the cup of coffee on the desk, I pull up employee records. “Don’t do it,” I tell myself, but I don’t listen. Instead, I take my phone and punch her address into the GPS.
It takes me thirty minutes to find her place and get a parking spot. I look up at the high-rise and then look around to see all the other ones. “Definitely not where I thought she would live,” I note as I make my way into the building.
The doorman is busy dealing with a delivery person, so I slip in and head toward the elevator, hoping no one will ask me anything. I press the thirty-fourth-floor button and look up, seeing the numbers go up from one all the way to thirty-four. I step out, going right, then turning around to go left.
I stare at her door for a good five minutes, maybe even more, before my hand comes up and knocks. I look down at the floor, one side of my head telling me this is a bad idea while the other side says knock again. I knock again after two minutes and finally hear movement on the other side of the door. The sound of the locks being turned fills the silent hallway, and then she pulls open the door. She’s wearing gray lounge pants with a short-sleeved matching shirt that shows all her stomach. Her flat smooth stomach makes my mouth water. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and her face looks very pale. “What the hell are you doing here?”
eleven
Grace
Opening the door, I’m expecting the doorman to be there with another delivery from my mother, but instead, it’s him. The last person on earth I would ever expect to knock on my door, and the most irritating of all, he looks fucking hot. But I push that down and ignore it, remembering what a dick he was. “What the hell are you doing here?” I almost shriek, which then makes my stomach rise, and I turn to rush down the hall toward the bathroom. “Not again,” I chant over and over again. I slam the door behind me before making it to the toilet where the water and ginger ale I had an hour ago comes right back up. I close my eyes, trying to get the nausea to subside.
I sit with my back against the wall as I count to one hundred. In through my nose, out through my mouth. The nausea settles, and I attempt to slide back up to my feet. Walking over to the sink, I turn the water on, making sure it’s cool to the touch before I rinse my mouth. Grabbing a towel, I dab my mouth dry before turning to walk out of the bathroom. I don’t know why I’m shocked he’s standing outside the bathroom door. “Who invited you in?” I ask, not sure I should take another step because it feels like my stomach is doing the wave.