Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 307(@200wpm)___ 246(@250wpm)___ 205(@300wpm)
I never told her this, but it was the best Christmas I’d had since I was a kid.
I wonder if she remembers…
“I’m going through with this,” she says now, the softness vanishing from her eyes. “To borrow a phrase from the esteemed Rictor, I need to ‘grow a pair.’ So, you can help me, or you can stay out of the way while I grow my own, but either way it’s happening.”
Great. This isn’t going away.
A laugh escapes my lips, and we both know she’s got me by the balls.
But hell if I’m giving in without busting hers, first.
“In all your scheming, Eleanor, there’s one problem you haven’t considered.” I pin her with the stone-cold gaze I reserve for special occasions, like getting a tight-ass client to part with his money.
She wavers, the space between her man-brows wrinkling. “What’s that?”
I blow out a breath. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s bad. Probably a deal-breaker for you.”
“Jack, will you just—”
“Our snack machine…” I deliver my final words in a whisper. “It’s an organic, Cheetos-free zone.”
Her gasp says it all.
Oh yeah. She remembers.
Her cheeks turn pink, and beneath that hideous mustache, her mouth rounds into an “o,” sending a bolt of desire straight below the belt.
Hell. Every time I think I have the upper hand here, she undoes me all over again.
There’s no way this arrangement can end well.
“That’s fine,” she says, regaining her composure. “I can bring my own.” She rises from the chair and collects her case. “Does this mean you’re in?”
I waver.
As much as I want to offer the support her inner fire deserves, I can’t help my best friend’s little sister infiltrate our company as a dude.
Not without putting myself in a precarious position with Ryan, a guy who’s been a damn loyal friend and the only real constant in my life. Not without violating some ethical standards and probably breaking a few SEC rules.
And definitely not without rocking a constant, raging, highly unprofessional hard-on. It doesn’t matter what she’s wearing—Ellie is still Ellie, and my cock knows it.
But damn it, I can already feel myself giving in.
“Well?” she demands.
I may not agree with her methods, but if Ellie needs my help, she’s got it.
I meet her gaze across the desk and silence the warning bells clanging in my skull.
“Welcome aboard, Eric Webb. You and your porn ’stache start tomorrow, nine a.m. sharp.”
CHAPTER 3
Day 2 Thursday 8/2
ELLIE: Hey, are there stalls in the men’s bathroom? If not, “Eric” might have to take breaks to run down to the coffee shop on the corner.
JACK: Probably? I have my own bathroom. Executive privilege, you know. You could always check with your buddy, Rictor.
P.S. Are you seriously texting me about pee breaks right now?
When this is over, you’re going to OWE me. BIGLY.
ELLIE: Some of us have small bladders, Holt. And this is a key part of the Preparation for Possible Obstacles Phase of any journalistic mission.
P.S. Rictor is not my buddy. And you’re going to owe ME bigly after I’ve added valuable perspective to your worldview.
P.P.S. I may or may not be peeing as I text this.
JACK: Too much information, Seyfried.
ELLIE: You’re the one who wanted to be kept in the loop on every aspect of my probe. Just holding up my end of the bargain.
JACK: I appreciate your integrity, and I’m sure we’ll find a way to accommodate your small bladder. You should be more worried about having the man cred to walk into the men’s room in the first place.
It’s not too late to back out.
ELLIE: I refuse to back out before I’ve even begun. Stop freaking out. I’ve got this, Jack. I promise.
JACK: Right… If you have any more burning bathroom questions, feel free to text me. I’ll be up wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
ELLIE: Will do. Night, night, worrywart.
JACK: Good night, Eleanor. May you sleep well and have manly dreams.
ELLIE: You, too, boss man. ;-)
JACK: Oh, and Ellie? Be careful tomorrow, okay? For both our sakes.
CHAPTER 4
Ellie
Day 3 Friday 8/3
Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.
It’s one of my father’s favorite sayings, one I heard over and over again growing up. Like the time I begged for a pixie haircut (disaster). Or when I fought for a place on the track team then decided I hated running, jumping over hurdles, and just about everything track-flavored except hanging out with my friends on the way to the meets.
And then there was the Harvard Business School disaster, landing that coveted spot only to realize finance and I went together like peas and caramel corn.
Dad refused to let me quit track, and my regret didn’t magically restore the twenty inches of hair I’d hacked off, but I did transfer from the business school to the journalism program halfway through my first year of grad school. I wasn’t raised to be a quitter, but I can pivot when I need to.