Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
My cell phone rings, loud and abrupt in my otherwise quiet apartment, interrupting my spiraling thoughts.
Speak of the devil, I groan as I see who is calling.
Jensen Draper.
“Well, this could go one of two ways,” I muse as I stare at the ringing phone. “Either I chew him out or I beg him to reconsider.”
Watching the screen repeatedly buzz, I know my tactic has to be the latter.
“Mr. Draper?” I answer cautiously. “How are you? This is unexpected.”
“Michelle,” his oily voice hisses. I can feel his spit through the phone, I think disgustedly. Then he speaks again. “I’m considering not reporting you to the State Bar.”
Hope springs into my heart, but I try to control my voice, “Really?”
He hisses again.
“With conditions.”
Conditions? “Yes sir?” I ask him.
“You need to meet me on Saturday night.”
“What’s happening Saturday night?” I wince, unsure where this strange call is going. God, I hope he’s not asking me out on a date. I might just have to lose my law license because I can’t date Jensen Draper. No matter how awful the situation, I can’t feign romantic interest in this man.
But he just sneers at me.
“You’ll find out then.”
Again, I weigh my options, and at this point – given that I have no job, tons of debt, and a likely eviction notice pending – I don’t have much of a choice but to agree to Jensen’s odd request.
“Okay. What’s the address?” Jensen gives me in the information. “That’s in Queens,” I remark. What on earth would Jensen Draper be doing in Queens?
“It is,” he snaps at me. “Come at nine o’clock. Saturday night.”
“O-okay,” I stutter, unsure what the hell I’m getting myself into.
“Oh and Michelle? Wear a dress. Something slinky.”
What the hell?
“Now hold on – ”
“These are the conditions. And one more thing.”
I hold my breath, waiting for my creepy ex-boss to say something even more cringe-worthy. “Sir?”
“I believe your rent is due next week. Make sure it’s not late.”
Shit, that means he knows about the apartment! He’s threatening me with eviction. I smile humorlessly to myself.
“It won’t be Mr. Draper.”
“Good. Saturday. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t sir.”
With that, Jensen hangs up his end of the call without a goodbye. I stare down at my phone for a few moments, wondering how I could have gotten to this point, and what in the world I’m going to do if Saturday turns out awful. Heart sinking, I realize that it must be a date. He told me to wear a slinky dress! Why else would I have to dress up?
I feel dirty, and immediately jump in the shower. Oh no. How am I going to fend off Mr. Draper’s advances? The thought of one of his clammy hands touching me makes my skin crawl, and I turn the water on even hotter, trying to blast myself with the spray.
For the rest of the night and over the next couple of days, I try to avoid thinking about what might happen on Saturday night, but it’s nearly impossible. I feel like a prize pig being shipped to the slaughterhouse to meet its fate.
Friday morning, I receive yet another bill in the mail. All I can hope is that somehow Saturday involves me getting my job back, or at least being able to apply for one.
That evening, I dig through my closet for a ‘slinky’ dress to wear to the bizarre appointment. I find a deep blue cocktail dress, and stare at it hopelessly. Awful things are going to happen, and with trembling fingers, I hang it on the back of my closet so that it’s ready.
Saturday afternoon, I stare at myself in my bathroom mirror, unsure what to do.
If I don’t show up, I’m screwed. But I have no idea what’s about to happen.
I shake my head, resolved to go to the address in Queens and at least see what it is that Jensen is plotting. Sighing, I begin the arduous process of washing my hair, shaving my legs, and trying to pump myself up for my strange and unexpected evening.
Fortunately, my hair dries into a nice fluffy wave, and I check my legs over to make sure they’re silky smooth. Finally, it’s time to get dressed. I pull the dress from the closet and eye it with reluctance.
It’s a short, deep blue number that I purchased last year on a whim – a splurge for my life post law school. Back when I thought I’d have tons of dates, I think sadly.
But now, looking at the deep-v neck outline and daring split along the leg, I’m not so sure I should wear this dress for my meeting tonight. It looks a little tight, and I’m not so sure that I want Jensen to see me in something so… suggestive.
“What a creep,” I mutter to myself. But a girl has to do what she has to do. I pull the dress off its hanger, and slide the soft material over my head to adjust it. Finally, I turn to my floor length mirror to determine how I look.