Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 42185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 42185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 211(@200wpm)___ 169(@250wpm)___ 141(@300wpm)
“Please!” I scream, running as hard as I can. “Please, let me on! Tracey, stop the damn plane!”
I’m terrified and angry. I know what’s about to happen and I know I can’t change anything about it, but I still try. I run after the plane, screaming as loud as I can until it slowly takes off, wheels coming unglued from the ground, wings flexing in the wind.
I keep running after it, screaming as loud as I can. The plane disappears into the sky, and when I reach the end of the runway, I stumble face-first and smash into the ground, screaming the whole time.
I wake with a start, heart beating fast in my chest.
I stay there in bed, not moving, breathing deep. It takes a second for the dream to fade and for reality to take over. I steady myself after a few moments and slowly sit up.
“Fucking dreams,” I whisper to myself. I’m drenched in sweat, like I am most mornings. It’s still dark outside, although I know I won’t be getting any more sleep tonight.
I never can seem to fall back to sleep after a dream like that. It’s almost as if my brain knows what’s waiting for it, and is trying to spare me the agony.
Tired but resigned, I get out of bed. It’s four-thirty in the morning, and by the time I finish splashing water on my face and brushing my teeth, I’m wide fucking awake.
The dream lingers the whole day, like it always does.
* * *
I step out of the shower and get dressed. I put on my suit, like my fucking coat of armor, and slide my tie up to my throat. I’m tired but feeling better after spending the last two hours lifting weights and running on the treadmill. My body’s exhausted, but this is a good exhaustion.
I check my watch. Just after six, and I’m right on time. I step out of my bedroom and walk down the short hallway to my office. I push open the door and head over to my desk, sitting down with a soft sigh.
I know she’s waiting for me. I turn on my computer and make her wait longer, not looking at her, even though that’s taking more willpower than I thought it would. Ignoring her should be easy, since she’s just my faceless assistant, but Hazel is far from faceless.
I manage to last as long as it takes for my computer to start up and for me to log in. As soon as I pull up my email, though, I glance over at her.
She smiles slightly. I don’t pull my gaze away. I wanted to make her stand there for longer, but I guess I couldn’t help myself.
My eyes roam her body. Another simple blouse, this one navy blue, with a form-fitting dark skirt.
“Good morning,” I say to her.
“Good morning, sir.”
She’s holding a silver tray with a cup and a pot on it. I bet it’s pretty heavy. I nod at the corner of my desk.
“Put it there,” I say.
She follows my command, putting it down and stepping back. I pour some coffee from the pot into my cup and take a sip, preferring it black.
“Do you know how to curtsy?” I ask her.
She looks surprised. “Uh, curtsy?”
“Yes, like a feminine bow.”
“Like this?” She performs something akin to a curtsy, although awkward. She half bends at the waist, crosses her legs, and dips down.
I make a face and stifle some laughter. “Awful,” I say.
“Well, I’ve never had to do it before.”
“You’d better learn.”
“How?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I assume you’ve heard of the internet.”
She sighs. “Okay, fine. I’ll Google it.”
“Very good. I expect you to curtsy for me every morning from now on.”
Something darkens her face for a moment. “Did you ask all of your assistants to do this?”
I laugh a little, although I shouldn’t. I should be annoyed that she’s speaking out of turn and questioning me, but there’s something about her that I like. A spark, a fire.
“No, I didn’t,” I admit. “But you need to learn proper respect.”
She dips her head, and I suspect she’s hiding annoyance. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” I sip my coffee and watch her for a moment. She looks back up at me, eyes defiant. She’s so fucking pretty, for a second I want to order her down on her knees.
“I have another task,” I say, coming around my desk with my coffee in my hand. I head over to a little sitting area toward the front of my office, to the right of the door. I sit in a chair with my back to the windows and pull a small box from the table to my right.
I place it down at my feet and gesture for her to come over. “Open it,” I say.
She kneels down and I feel a thrill. I guess she’s on her knees anyway, in the end.