Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97865 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I’m going to kill her. I look up, and she’s giggling like a goddamn schoolgirl.
“Since I employ you two to work, I expect you to do it!” Harry yells, thankfully shutting this down. Mindy salutes him with an “Aye, aye, Captain!” and returns to work.
I push any thoughts of his apology and my pastry away and get back to tending the bar. This can be Monday’s problem.
“I honestly want to be you when I grow up.”
I laugh at Amy as I walk into the office. “Thanks. It’s amazing what the weekend off will do for the soul. How was your weekend?” My weekend did nothing for my soul. All I could think about was that stupid text exchange. And now, walking into work, I’m praying he’s had enough time to forget about it completely.
“Great! I spent the weekend with my boyfriend at the Conrad. He got us this fancy spa package.”
“Sounds like the perfect weekend. Have a good day!” I wave and walk down the hall to my desk. I drop my things off and head to the breakroom for his royal highness’s cup of coffee. When I knock on his door and walk in, he’s on a call. No surprise there. This saves me from uncomfortable morning chit-chat about what the hell Friday night was about. And how I may have crossed a line. Jerk or not, he’s still my boss. And my replies were anything but professional.
He doesn’t make eye contact, and I am a-okay with it. Leaving his coffee, I make my escape to my desk. Opening my computer, I find an email marked urgent.
To: Fay_Evans@MIC.org
From: T_Monroe@MIC.org
Subject: Work hour expectations
Miss Evans,
I expect the following task list to be completed before five p.m. today. If they are not, I will expect you to stay late.
*.docx attachment*
Theo Monroe (your boss)
CEO, Monroe Investment Corp
I knew those replies were going to bite me in the ass. I should have left him on read. A few harmless shots at work—not to mention Mindy snatching my phone—and my fingers had a mind of their own. If this is how he wants to handle it, so be it. I’ll take it like an adult. I open the attachment and swear.
“He’s got to be kidding me.” I stare at the first task on the list. Refile records chronologically instead of alphabetically. It took me almost three hours to do it the first time! I read through the rest of the bogus list. Restock bourbon, check on dry cleaning. . . it goes on and on. That smug asshole. I’m not going to let him win this one. I’ve dealt with bigger sharks in the kitchen.
I stand and adjust my skirt. If he wants to play this game, I’m all in. Walking back into his office, my biggest smile in place, I mouth, “Just gonna get started,” and point to his shelves. Hiking my skirt over my knees, I bend down, pull a row of files from the bottom shelf, and lay them on the floor. I grab another stack, bend back down—
“That’s enough.”
“What’s enough?” I straighten, looking over my shoulder.
“Get out.”
“Why—?”
“Jesus, just. . . get out.” His eyes are dark as night, and his brow is creased.
“As you wish, Mr. Monroe.” I walk out, holding in my smirk. A victory is a victory. I get to work, tackling the first half of his silly list. One thing is for certain. If I ever need some fast cash, I could steal one of his bottles of bourbon and sell it on eBay. Man, he has expensive taste. When I knock off a quarter of my list, I treat myself to a slice of coffee cake from my new favorite bakery. I pop a piece of cake into my mouth and moan at the hint of vanilla bean and nutmeg. Everything that comes from that bakery is orgasmic. It brings back a memory of when I was at Sullivan’s. Miguel had me come in early and do a test run on a new custard tart recipe he brought back from his trip to Portugal. We spent hours balancing out the nutmeg and cinnamon. By the time we’d mastered it, I was high on caramelized custard and flaky crust.
What I wouldn’t do to make that pastry again. My office phone rings, bringing me back to my reality. I swallow down my bite and answer.
“Mr. Monroe’s office.”
“Fable, honey, it’s Mom.”
I groan. “Hey, Mom. I’m at work. I can’t really talk.”
“Well, you were in such a hurry this morning.”
“Yeah, I have a demanding boss who requires me to be in the office before the chickens rise.”
“Speaking of that, you haven’t said a peep about how it’s going. Mary Bexley from my church group says he’s a very successful man.”
Successful. Gorgeous. A total jerk.
“Yeah, he sure is.”
“Your father said he saw him in the paper this morning. Some fancy charity event. He was with a woman.”