Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
I’ve never, in my life, sent a guy a picture of my pussy. Never even considered it.
But over the past few weeks, I’ve danced on the line. Hell, just yesterday morning, in the wee hours before sunrise, fresh on the booze of going out with Avery after paddleboarding, I sent ThunderStruck an up-close-and-personal view of my breasts, hard nipples and all.
It was wanton and uninhibited, and when he woke up to it, he left me a slew of messages that talked me right through yet another orgasm when I got up just after noon.
On shaky legs, I walk off the elevator on the fifteenth floor, go through the front door, pass my cubicle, and head down the hall, my sights set on the bathroom.
But as I pass by one of the large conference rooms and spot Beau sitting at the head of the table and several of the members of his Midnight campaign team around him, I get a different idea.
Impulsiveness—and pent-up sexual frustration—driving my decisions, I double-back to snag a Post-it note from my desk and book it down the hall to where Beau’s empty office sits. I survey my surroundings, making sure no one is paying too much attention to me, and slip inside. I’m thankful the blinds are down, covering the see-through glass walls, and pull the pen from behind my ear to quickly write out a little note on the pink Post-it in my hands.
I stick it to the edge of his open laptop screen and turn for the door—just as Avery is coming through it.
Shiiiit.
I move away from the note and Beau’s desk as subtly as I can as she dives right into conversation.
“Oh my God, June! You wouldn’t believe what I just heard about Helen Fox. You know, the girl who got pregnant in eighth grade and left school to go to Germany?”
My head swims as I try to shift gears from one Banks to the other. “Vaguely, yes.”
“Well, you know that Toby Vincent, who got her pregnant, was always a prick and got what he deserved when he got dishonorably discharged from the Navy a couple years ago. But Helen just got engaged to a billionaire—with a B—in Dubai, and I heard from Taryn, who heard from her mom, who heard from Toby’s aunt, that he’s positively upchucking over the news.”
“Wow.” It’s all I can manage in the face of the salacious gossip, but evidently, it’s enough, because Avery carries on.
“I know! Anyway, I’m really happy for her. I always love it when the fucked-over humps back, you know?”
I nod. If there’s one thing about Avery, it’s that she’s for the girls. She may gossip, but it’s never to bad-mouth anyone who doesn’t deserve it.
“What are you doing in here anyway?” she questions, stepping around me and heading straight for his desk. She plops down into his desk chair, rooting around in his files on top, and I want to die a very slow death at how close she is to that damn Post-it note.
“I…uh…I had to drop something off to him.” She quirks an eyebrow, and I force myself to pull it the fuck together. “What are you doing here?”
“Seeing if he has any money lying around. I forgot my wallet, and I’m dying for an iced mocha latte. And my credit card doesn’t work. They sent me some email about being over my monthly limit. Like, those things have limits? Whatever.”
“Oh,” I say, making my voice sound as laid-back as I possibly can, even though my heart is beating so fast it feels like someone is actually chasing it inside my chest. Her eyes start to move toward the screen of Beau’s laptop, and instant panic clutches my chest. “You want to go to lunch?” My voice is a startling blurt and far too loud for the occasion, but Avery is too focused on the lunch part to notice. Thank goodness.
“Finally, yes!” she says through a relieved sigh. “I was getting ready to put you in workaholic rehab. But…” She pauses and points an index finger at me. “I get to choose, and you have to pay. I forgot my wallet, remember?” She starts to search Beau’s desk again, muttering about how she can’t believe he doesn’t have any cash lying around, and I jump into action.
“You got it,” I agree, grabbing her elbow to drag her to the door.
“Geez, June,” she complains, pulling out of my grip to smooth out her sailor-inspired Miu Miu navy wool dress. “What’s your deal—oh my God. Look at this!” Her voice is equal parts disgusted and appalled as she snags the Post-it note from the screen of Beau’s laptop and shoves it at me.
My hand shakes as I take it, and she stomps her heel in anticipation.
“Read it!”
Funny thing, friend, but I already read it because I wrote it.