Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20481 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20481 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 102(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 68(@300wpm)
“Exactly! You need to loosen up! And our girl here just landed a job with Mr. Crown, the hottest, richest hunk in America. That’s something you bitches can all do a shot to, now come on. Grow some balls!”
I really am not a drinker, and under normal circumstances would protest, but I can see that Mel is really excited for me and is in one of her not-taking-no-for-an-answer moods, so I take the glass from her, and so does everyone else, and with a flourishing toast, we down our shots. Almost in unison, everyone but Mel chokes back their groans of disgust.
“There we go!” she cheers. “Now, Penny, tell us all about it!”
There’s a split second where I consider spilling everything – from the emergency trip to Saks, to the compliments, to Jude telling me to get down on my knees in front of him as he undid his belt buckle. But then my judgment gets the best of me, and I quickly change my mind.
“Well, it wasn’t that crazy really,” I lie. “Just general stuff like learning the office routines, where things are, how to work the coffee machine. You know. Kind of boring. But I do have to get to bed; I have to be in pretty early tomorrow, so yeah. Thanks for the shot, Mel, I’ll see you guys tomorrow after work!”
Mel boos me as I quickly scurry away to my room and close the door behind me. It feels wrong lying to the girls, but it’s also definitely wrong to go running my mouth about my new boss and how he came onto me at work when he doesn’t want anyone knowing about us…whatever “us” is.
That’s a scary thought, honestly.
Us.
What am I thinking, actually? I just met Jude and I’m already thinking about “us”? Just this morning I was calling him Mr. Crown and was terrified about being fired, and now I’m thinking about our future or whether or not we have some kind of relationship that needs to be kept secret from the rest of the world?
I must be losing my mind. But what else am I supposed to think after the things he said to me? Or does he just want to keep me around for a little bit of fun like guys like to do? Not that I have any experience with that, but he’s a billionaire CEO with a never-ending line of girls just waiting to do his bidding. Why would he ever want to give that up for a silly, no-nothing, upstate girl like me?
I shake my head and head to the bathroom to take off my makeup. This is something I can’t afford to think about right now or I’ll never get any sleep. And sleep is what I need if I’m going to be able to function tomorrow. So I do my best to push these thoughts from my mind, I get ready for bed, go back to my room and climb under the blankets. And thankfully, it’s not long before I’m fast asleep.
I’m awoken by the wailing of my phone buzzing and beeping beside my bed. I snatch it and check the caller ID:
Unknown.
I almost don’t answer, but then I notice that it’s 2 a.m. and a tiny voice inside me questions what kind of spam caller would be calling at 2 a.m. So I pick up.
“Hello?”
“Penny.” Instantly I’m awake.
“Mr. Cr—I mean, Jude?”
“A car will be buy your apartment in twenty minutes,” he says simply. “Be ready. Wear something sexy.”
Before I can respond, he hangs up.
Panic floods my body. I sit up, praying that in a moment I’ll wake up and realize I’m dreaming. But that doesn’t happen. I’m still sitting in my apartment, in the dark, staring at the ugly orange light seeping through my window from the streetlamp outside.
A car? Something sexy? Is he joking? I have the least sexy wardrobe in existence. The closest thing to sexy I own was the outfit I bought today, and I can’t exactly wear that over again after already wearing it to the office, can I?
Twenty minutes.
I spring into action, throw on a T-shirt and race into the bathroom to perform the quickest makeup and hair job of my life. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins. Is he trying to kill me? Because that’s sure what it feels like as I run back to my room and start rifling through my drawers, searching for the sexiest bra and panties I own, which end up being a black lace thong with a somewhat matching black bra.
That’s it as far as lingerie goes. I don’t own stockings, a garter, any kind of cool strappy top thingies, or anything else that would impress a guy. I’ve never had any need for such things.
As sheer panic sets in, I check my phone. Nineteen minutes have passed. I quickly race into the living room and glance out the window to see if a car is sitting outside waiting, but thankfully all I see is weird Mrs. Norman in her raincoat walking her three corgis. I’m just about to head back into my room when I see it – Rachel’s trench coat hanging by the door, the one she kept from a play she did a few months ago. And then it clicks.