Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108751 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“Nicholas,” he responded, and just from my name, I knew he didn’t have good news. “The shares went up, but the sale fell through.”
“Son of a bitch.”
This had been a rare chance at a larger chunk of shares. It’d been an opportunity I hadn’t expected, and I’d stupidly got my hopes up that my plans would be achieved sooner than planned. Now the finish line stretched further than before, and after the day, it only added to the exhaustion.
“I’ll keep my eye on them to see if anything changes.”
“Thank you.”
And with that, he hung up, leaving me with my disappointment and defeat. I dug my fingers into my eyes, trying to ease the headache I couldn’t seem to shake.
The phone rang again, this time my office line. I considered not answering it, not wanting to deal with another task today, but picked up anyway.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Rush, sorry to disturb you so late,” Hank, the front desk security, said.
I looked at the clock, seeing it was after nine. Where the hell had the time gone?
“What is it?”
“Ms. Barrone just came in, and I thought you should know. She uhh…had a bottle of champagne. She tried to hide it but didn’t do too well of a job,” he explained with a laugh like he found her attempt cute.
“Did you confiscate it? Stop her?”
“Uhhh,” he hesitated. “No, sir. She seemed harmless and had a card. But I wanted you to know as it’s so late.”
“Thank you.”
I hung up and shot from my chair, charging for the door, ready to take my frustration out on someone other than myself.
What the hell was she playing at? Was she meeting someone else for a romantic rendezvous? Not in my fucking office. It was time I caught her red-handed in her lies. It was time for her to confess she was just like I thought, trying to woo her way to the top.
Despite knowing I’d finally catch her, I slowed. I realized I didn’t want to be right.
Feeling less victorious than I thought, I made my way toward the dim light coming from the cubicles. Soft clatter and shuffling let me know she was there. Was she with someone at her desk?
“What the hell is going on here?” I growled.
She popped up with a gasp, her brown hair swaying with the jerky move. The dim lighting didn’t let me see her well, but even from afar, I could see she looked in disarray. Her hair sloppier than ever, her makeup smudged, and her shirt wrinkled with a few extra buttons undone. A hand slapped to her chest like I’d startled her, but she quickly recovered.
“Oh…hi.” Her soft greeting was quickly followed by a giggle.
A fucking giggle.
What the hell?
I rounded the corner, ready to find out who she had with her, only to find her alone with a box that held her measly belongings.
My brows furrowed. “Are you…packing up?”
“Yup,” she said with a snap of the p, completely unrepentant. She lifted the bottle of champagne, clutched in her other hand, and took a swig, facing back to her desk. Just as quickly, she turned over her shoulder. “I quit. By the way.”
As if she hadn’t dropped a bomb, she went back to organizing papers in a folder and adding them to the box.
“What? Are you drunk?”
“Sure am. Want some?” She offered me the bottle, and my lip curled in distaste.
Was that…Cooks? I turned my nose up at the bottom shelf champagne. Shaking my head and pushing the bottle away as if it was diseased, I focused on getting some answers. “Ms. Barrone, what the hell is going on here?”
“I quit,” she said again. She turned and leaned against the desk, dropping her eyes to her toe sliding around the floor. “Figured I’d clean out without an audience. Not that I have much with all of the two months of freedom.”
She scoffed the word freedom like it was a joke to her. Her hair fell over her face, only leaving a view of her lips twisted in derision. What the hell had happened between now and our meeting? She’d handled the knowledge it was me at the party so much better earlier. What had changed?
Seeing her defeated, begrudgingly softened my accusations against her—that and finding her alone. If I absolutely had to admit, maybe she was a good worker. And maybe I didn’t want her to quit, especially because of what happened.
“Look, Verana.” I sighed, dragging my hand through my hair. “You don’t need to quit because of earlier.”
Her shoulders shook, and I froze, bracing for tears I hadn’t expected. I stood like a dear in headlights until she looked up, and I realized she was laughing.
“Oh, no. It’s not because of you.” She said it like it was the craziest thing I’d said to her ever, and my irritation roared back. “My future husband won’t allow me to work. So, with my impending engagement—that I had no say in, by the way—I figured I’d quit now.”