Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
His low words and warm breath are only more frustrating.
I ignore him because I can’t form words right now, much less a guarded reaction.
“Keep the ideas coming,” Anna says, her brown cheeks reddening.
Eyes like dark, worn wood peer into me. “I can’t agree more, Miss Patel. No man wants to deal with undoing a corset after his wedding any more than his newly minted wife cares to wear one.”
I so wish he’d quit talking about getting naked.
“Join me on the call with Italy this week,” he says, looking at me again. “Before we change our marketing, we’re going to alter a few designs. I want options that don’t require anything more than the dress.”
Umm—what? I’m influencing design now? And how am I going to get through this call on something I know jack about?
“I’m not a fashion designer, Mr. Burns. Sorry to disappoint you.”
I’m not sorry.
“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “A more comfortable product falls under marketing research.”
Right. But I’ve been running options through my head—mostly to keep my mind off Lincoln in that vest, talking about removing corsets—and I think I have something now.
A sudden burst of inspiration.
“You know, I think I’ve got a tagline for the new line. Haughty But Nice: Perfect so you don’t have to be.”
“Ohhh, I love it!” Anna beams, doing a little dance in her chair.
“So, are we revisiting groomzilla after all?” Burns asks.
“Maybe.”
He smiles at me deliciously.
Right. If only he weren’t a deranged, cinnamon-roll-obsessed lunatic, and also, you know, my boss.
His gaze falls to my hands. “With no ring on your finger, I have to ask. How do you know so much about the wedding industry?”
There it is.
My biggest shame, tossed into the spotlight for a roomful of people.
Taking a deep breath as the room blurs around me, I glance around, wishing I could disappear. But I manage to swallow the cotton ball in my throat, gather my wits, and glare at him. “The same way you handle this company without direct experience in everything. Google is a miracle worker.”
Cheryl’s eyes flick from me to the boss and back. She visibly stiffens.
“Are you okay, Dakota?”
I don’t answer.
“Excuse me.”
I just grab my notepad in a rush and flee the room, but not before I hear Cheryl behind me. “Poor dear. No woman her age likes to be reminded she’s still single.”
That’s not true.
Plenty of women thrive on being unmarried. I’m just not one of them.
Maybe once I was meant to be a wife, but those days ended in a million tears on a small-town day baking under the sun, along with my desiccated heart.
She’s trying to stick up for me, I get it, to paper over what a weirdo I am for fleeing, but it just makes this worse.
Oh, and of course I feel the bosshole’s searing gaze trailing me as I close the door on my way out.
I need to be alone.
I need to shut myself somewhere dark and lonely and ugly cry. I’d rather not do it in a crowded conference room full of people who’ll have a harder time respecting me now even without an open meltdown.
I fling my stuff down on my desk and make a mad dash to the bathroom.
After splashing cold water over my face and fixing my hair, I text Eliza. Maybe you were right. I’m not sure I can handle this.
Eliza: What happened?
I’m blotting at my eyes and tapping at my phone with one hand. The bosshole. He asked me how I know so much about weddings when I don’t have a ring.
Eliza: Oh, God. Ouch. How do you even work for that guy? Did you kick him in the balls yet?
I smile and shake my head at that last part.
He may have it coming, but for once, this isn’t totally his fault.
I don’t know and no, I send back.
Why not? You’re a Poe and last I checked, Poes don’t take any crap. They lure people into dingy wine dungeons and brick them up. She adds a devil emoji at the end.
Leave it to Eliza to make me laugh.
A Poe writes about horrible things, but it’s fiction, I send. Also, workplace assault probably won’t help me get another job.
Eliza: True. You can always work with me at the coffee shop.
No, I really can’t.
People annoy me like nobody’s business.
I think I’d rather paint my place with a toothpick over working retail with customers, with complaints, with an awful need to smile.
Ugh.
Sighing, I send her what’s really a wish. Don’t worry. If I blow this, I’ll figure something out.
Eliza: When do you get home? I’ll brew up a Madagascar vanilla coffee just for you.
Dakota: A steaming hot cup of vanilla bliss sounds perfect right now.
Eliza: Come home early. Don’t drag yourself through the rest of the day.
I wince, wishing I could before I add, I have to power through it, Eliza. I don’t have a choice when it’s still my job. For now. Catch you later.