Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86573 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Genevieve.”
She shrugs and takes a sip of whatever’s in her cup.
My sigh is loud, filling the hallway where we’re hiding.
“I have a business to think about now, Gen. I can’t just do whatever I want without thinking. I’m trying to contract Roam, Inc.”
Like a temporary high, the excitement of heading to Rome’s office begins to wear off as soon as I realize this is all coming to an end.
I quit.
I won’t be here tomorrow.
I won’t see my friends, and I won’t see Rome.
No more exciting emails, no more late-night chats with the boss, no more flirting and sending him food. I’m going to miss this.
I’m going to miss working for Rome.
The only way I can work with him ever again is by keeping things professional between us—just like he prefers it.
Her brow is skeptically raised. “No offense, babe. You know I love you and totally believe in you. But do you really think you can get Rome Blackburn—the most stubborn man on the freaking planet—to hire you to do outside marketing? You know he doesn’t do outside hires. He does everything in-house. That’s how he’s able to pay us so well.”
She’s so right, he does hire within and self-performs most things company related. Marketing. Design. Quality control. Advertising and new product development. Everything within reason, except the actual manufacturing of what we sell.
Gen might be right; he probably won’t hire me.
He’s already told me no twice.
Fortunately for him, I’m tenacious. I might hear the word no, but I’m always plotting—I want this job, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get it.
I mean. Almost anything.
I cough, shooting Gen a smile.
Straighten my skirt, because . . . I am heading up to Rome Blackburn’s office.
My former boss.
The man I have a schoolgirl crush on.
He needs me—he wants me.
I can see it in his eyes. All I have to do is force him to recognize it . . .
* * *
“Would you get the hell out of here? I have a meeting.” I hear my former boss grind out between clenched teeth as I approach his office, the floor completely devoid of any humans besides him and Hunter. Lauren is still at the party along with the rest of the company.
“What meeting?” Hunter sounds amused. “Come on, be honest. The meeting is with your right hand, isn’t it?”
“Sod off, for fuck’s sake.”
“Sod off? Are you British and didn’t tell me? What else don’t I know?”
I swear, I can hear Rome fuming and he isn’t saying a single word in reply. I imagine that his lips are drawn into a thin line and he’s biting back his temper.
“Secrets, secrets, everyone has them.” It sounds like he’s rising. “You wound me, you know that? We’re blood brothers, and if you know who your little pen pal is, you should tell me. It’s only fair.”
“I’m not telling you who it is.”
“Aha! So you admit that you know who it is. I fucking knew it. Is it Peyton, whose moist cake I just devoured?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“So you’re not denying it.”
“She’s on her way up, so can you get the fuck out of here?”
“Blink once if she’s the one who wants to bang you.”
Silence.
“Are you blinking once or having a seizure? What is that shit you’re doing with your face?”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips, hand flying to my mouth.
“Tell me to get the fuck out if it’s Peyton Lé—”
“Get the fuck out! And shut the door.”
Suddenly, Hunter O’Rourke backs out of the office, doing a weird little dance—it’s more of a jig, actually—red plaid shirt bold and bright against the dreary gray the walls are painted. His arms are above his head and he’s pumping his fist in the air when his eyes land on me, standing square in the middle of the corridor, eyes wide.
I can actually feel how wide my eyes are.
He stops dancing, giant smile spreading like the Cheshire cat across his face. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Rome’s resident pen pa—”
“O’Rourke! Leave. Now.” Rome fills his doorway, a deep edge creeping into his voice and an even deeper crinkle in his brow.
Our eyes lock.
My stomach drops.
Uh-oh, he’s not happy—not even a little bit, and I curse Hunter O’Rourke for giving him shit. The last thing I needed was for him to be in a bad mood when I wanted to pitch to him one last time before I left.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
I square my shoulders and clear my throat.
“All right, all right. I’m gone.” Hunter’s hands go up in mock surrender. “Hey, Peyton—thanks for igniting the beast and then leaving us all high and dry.”
The bastard actually winks like he’s funny, does a small skip, and salutes, walking briskly down the hallway.
Whistling.
Incredulously, I stare off after him. What the . . .
“Lévêque, get in here. Now.” His head nods toward the interior of his office.