Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I’m slightly envious of everyone involved, which is hilarious given the circumstances. I wish I were getting the privilege of staying late, getting orders barked at me by Hudson Rhodes?
Well…kinda.
I almost emailed him last night and again this afternoon, just to check in and confirm there wasn’t anything else he needed from me. He hasn’t reached out once since I left his office yesterday afternoon, and I refused to bring him another cup of coffee this morning. There have been no further tasks, none of the “favoritism in reverse” he promised me. I should be happy about that, I suppose.
I’m about to pivot toward the elevators and be on my merry way when I suddenly stop.
Be assertive. Go after what you want.
Hudson’s office draws me in like a moth to a flame.
Associates are everywhere. Papers. Memos. Highlighters. Pens. Laptops. Empty soda cans. Venti coffee cups with ice cubes swimming in pale dregs. Bethany and Sophie are sharing Lucy’s desk. Bethany has two pens tucked behind her right ear and another behind her left. She’s furiously flipping through pages when she looks up and sees me standing in the threshold between the hallway and the sitting area.
“Do you need help?” I ask with a lopsided smile.
It’s a dumb question. It’s like I’m watching a person drown in a pool, and instead of jumping in to help, I call out to them, Hey! Everything good?
She’s probably about to tell me to fuck off. Instead, she points to a thick stack of papers bound with black plastic rings.
“Sit down, read through that. Highlight anything pertinent. We’re examining KinBio’s numbers, comparing them over time and benchmarking them against competitors.”
My ears perk up. KinBio is the pharmaceutical company Hudson discussed on the phone yesterday. Did the FTC get back to him today? Is the merger moving forward?
I drop my things immediately and am about to pick up the bound pages when Bethany’s stomach audibly growls. Sophie laughs, and I look around the room, registering that most everyone is in the same boat: tired, overworked, hungry.
“Have any of you eaten?”
An attorney across the room jerks his head up with wide eyes. “Shit. Dinner. I knew I forgot something.”
The concept of an evening meal hadn’t even occurred to him, or anyone else in the room for that matter.
“Why don’t I—”
Bethany’s already waving her hand for me to get on with it. “Order, yes! Whatever. Just get something here ASAP.”
I go with pizza and salads from my favorite place down the street, and I charge it to the company card Bethany hands me. Firms like Elwood Hoyt are happy to pay for a $12 slice of pepperoni pizza while you continue working overtime helping to make them millions upon millions of dollars, so I go overboard. I make sure everyone has a fresh drink, and I tack on a bunch of appetizers and a few dessert options because who doesn’t want an ooey-gooey brownie fresh out of the oven after having ingested enough grease to require a truckload of Tums?
I add a rush delivery fee, and when my phone chimes, I run down with an empty supply cart and meet the delivery guy at the entrance.
“Did you uh…order all this?” The stoned teenager can’t comprehend how little ol’ me could need this much pizza. Now that I’m seeing it, it’s a lot. Oh well.
I sign the bill and help him load everything up on the cart.
“Please tell me you brought the plates and silverware I requested.”
If not, I’ll have a mutiny on my hands.
“Yeah, it’s all in there.”
Perfect. I tip him generously then cart the food to the 70th floor, trying not to salivate from all the delicious smells surrounding me during my trip up in the elevator.
My reappearance is met with what could only be described as the reaction Jesus might expect to get on his homecoming.
“OH MY GOD.”
“FUCKING HELL YES.”
“MOVE!”
They can’t get to me—or my pizza—fast enough.
I start opening boxes, explaining the options. “That one is meat lovers, this one’s margherita.”
I pass out plates and drinks, toss the salads, and get everyone in the sitting area taken care of before I start loading up plates and bringing them into Hudson’s office.
There are four attorneys inside. Two work from his couch, using the coffee table as a desk. Another one is spread out at a side table that was covered in achievement awards yesterday. Now those sit on the ground. Hudson sits behind his desk on a call, tilted back in his chair, tossing his stress ball up into the air over and over again in quick succession so he can catch it and continue. He clocks my arrival with predatorial precision. His brown eyes lock onto me and then narrow slightly.
My stomach flips. He’s sans suit jacket and tie. The sleeves on his white button-down are rolled up on his toned forearms. It looks like maybe he hasn’t shaved since yesterday because he’s sporting a sexy amount of scruff. He looks meaner with it, too tough for this setting. Truth be told, that face is wasted in this job. He should be working security for some mafia boss, interrogating moles. Those thick expressive eyebrows say everything he can’t while he’s on the phone.