Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 161434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 807(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Thank God he doesn’t finish that sentence. My heart flies into my throat, beating so hard I cough.
“I...I would. I guess. I like you. As a boss!” I add hastily. “But trust me. If you want class, I’m not your girl. Don’t you have anyone else you can ask?”
“I have plenty of women I could ask. But you’re the one I really wanted, even before the flake.” He smirks me into oblivion.
“Can I think it over?”
“I hope you will. Nothing’s ever simple with that mind, and that’s exactly why you’ll make a perfect pretend date. See you soon.” He steps out of the car without a second glance.
Damn, he’s good, and I’m left spinning through bad thoughts.
Is he asking me out? On a date? Or does he really just need a business date? And if he needed a date for business purposes only...why his driver?
It makes no sense.
After the day at the conference, he must remember I barely have a clue about his high-powered world of bajillionaires pressing palms and making deals bigger than some national treasuries.
I pick up my phone and text Abby. So. News. Nick bought me a fancy dress and asked me to go to some flashy media event with him.
Abby: Finally! Millie and I will see you tomorrow night.
Reese: What? You can’t think I’m going.
Abby: Of course, you’re going. What kind of dress? A formal?
Reese: ...I don’t know. I haven’t seen it. Or agreed to go.
Abby: Go!!!
Reese: He’s my boss, Abby. I add a crying emoji.
Abby: Even better reason. She tacks a devil emoji onto her reply.
A monster sigh oozes out of me. The life force is leaving my body.
Did I wake up in an alternate universe?
Suddenly, her rough decisions in life make sense to me.
Abby, you can’t date your boss! I fire back. That’s not how things work in the corporate trenches.
Abby: He’s hot. Why wouldn’t you?
Reese: B-o-s-s.
Abby: Look. You’ve got your shit together more than I did at your age. Hell. You’re more together than I am now! If you know what you should do, do it. Things don’t always go well for women who don’t do what they’re told.
Reese: He’s not that kind of man. I don’t think he’d fire me for not going. I’m sure he wouldn’t. His grandmother would send an angry assassin to cut off his balls.
Abby: Then if you don’t want to go, don’t go. Let him risk his balls on somebody else, Reesie.
One problem, I text, and hesitate before I add, ...he sorta offered me ten thousand dollars.
Abby: ROFL. Holy shit, are you crazy? Why are we debating this? Go, go, go!
She adds an animated gif of a screaming cartoon drill sergeant for emphasis.
Hold the ugh. It’s not a heavy enough three-letter word for this.
Nick passes his doorman and comes strolling toward the car.
Reese: Gotta go. TTYL.
Abby: LOL. Bye. I won’t be expecting you tonight.
“Okay, looks like the dress is at a boutique on State street. Shall we?” he asks, his handsomeness ratcheted up to eleven with his eyebrow angled to kill.
“You realize I’m only doing this for money, right?” I whimper.
Nick gives me a smirk for the ages.
“If I thought you’d do it for free, I wouldn’t have offered five figures.”
“You’re a dick,” I sputter.
Blah. Bad Reese.
He’s my boss and obviously I shouldn’t have said that but...
...but what in all that’s holy is he doing to me?
“Nah. I didn’t even have to bribe you with cotton candy this time,” he jokes, chuckling quietly as I flip him the middle finger.
It’s a quick ride from his place to State Street. I pull up in front of the door, expecting him to get out. When he doesn’t, I undo my seatbelt and turn around, looking him dead in the eye.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Letting you pick up your dress. Why should I ruin the surprise?”
“Nope. Not going in alone. You’re coming in,” I say.
“I’m cool.” He clears his throat. “Reese, what if the dress needs alterations?”
“They do alterations here?” I say, turning to look over the fancy storefront. It looks like a full-service place, at least, with low lights and colorful dresses in the windows.
“Where do you shop?” he asks.
“Big box stores or online. That was always good enough.” Until now, I think but don’t say.
“This is a bit more eloquent, in case you didn’t notice.”
Oh, I noticed, smartass.
Even so, I shrug. “I’m sure you’ve never set foot in a big box store, but you shouldn’t knock it. It totally beats paying a hundred bucks for a t-shirt.”
“You’re impossible, lady. And I assure you I’ve bought shirts that run me eight hundred dollars if the style fits. It’s your turn to enjoy dressing to match your looks.” Smiling, he shakes his head. “Now, please find a damn place to park, so we can pick up your dress.”
* * *