Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Lovie just grins and heads for the stairs, and it’s only a moment or two before I hear the front door clicking shut and the engine of her SUV cranking in the driveway.
After I toss on a pair of sweats in my bedroom, I head to the kitchen and go straight to the fridge, my stomach already growling for some potato soup. But before I can even get it in a bowl, my phone rings from inside my purse. I pull it out to find Incoming Call: Lana flashing on the screen.
“Hey, girl,” I greet her, but she bypasses a greeting entirely.
“I feel like I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all freaking day!”
“I’m sorry,” I answer as I ladle some of Lovie’s potato soup into a bowl. “I was swamped at work, picked up some extra hours, and ended up with a twelve-hour day.”
“Damn, girl,” she mutters. “Are you sure leaving CMA was the best choice? I mean, I know you’re dealing with a hell of a lot less perverts, but the hours are chef’s kiss.”
I snort. “I’m sure.” Trust me, I’m sure. The whole reason I left CMA was that I quite literally couldn’t do it anymore. I reached a point where my entire body revolted against it.
“Well, Monica and I have both decided that you’re doing lunch with us this week,” Lana says, her voice vibrating from the speaker of my phone. “No excuses, girl. What day can you fit us into your busy schedule?”
“I can probably fit lunch in on Wednesday,” I respond as I grab a spoon from the drawer. “But it’ll have to be during my lunch break at noon.” I have much less schedule flexibility at Progress Mutual than I did at CMA. Whereas Margo lets her girls make their own schedule, ol’ Willy makes your schedule for you. If you’re supposed to be working, your ass better be in your seat and making insurance cold calls or else you’ll end up in his office getting an earful. I already witnessed this with my thirty-year-old coworker Doug.
Though, in Willy’s defense, Doug can’t be on time to save his life and always smells like stale weed.
“I’m certain we can make that work,” she responds. “Oh, by the way, did Monica tell you about the call she got on Friday?”
“No,” I answer and break off a piece of French bread to have with my soup. “But I’m not sure I want to hear about some weirdo wanting her to shove cucumbers up his ass or something.”
“Girl. It’s nothing like that.” Lana cracks up. “It’s related to one of your old regular callers. Fred, I think?”
“Fred?” I question, racking my brain for an association to the name but coming up empty handed. “I don’t remember a Fred.”
“He’s apparently super sweet. The opposite of all the other freaks that call into CMA.”
I snort at that. But my mind keeps searching through all the Call Me Anytime callers I can remember until it lands on the one man I never actually minded talking to. “Felix, maybe?”
“Yes!” Lana exclaims. “Felix! That’s the guy.”
“Oh yeah, I do remember him. He was actually really sweet.”
“Well, his wife called in the other day with a very interesting request for Monica,” she explains. “It’s their anniversary, and she’s planning this sexy, special evening for him and wants Mon to meet them at the Swan at ten o’clock tonight dressed to the nines.”
“They want her to meet them at the Swan?” The Swan is a fancy-schmancy hotel in downtown Nashville. If you’re staying there, you’re shelling out four figures a night. “Nice digs, but that sounds a little sketch.”
“Well, the amount of money they offered her is so much that I don’t think I would’ve passed it up either.”
“Wait . . .” I pause and furrow my brow. “So she’s doing it?”
“Hell yeah, she’s doing it!” Lana exclaims. “Six figures, Han. Of course she’s doing it. She’d be crazy not to. Plus, she doesn’t even have to do anything crazy besides watch them have sex and, like, say sexy things to them while they do it.”
A rock of uncertainty sits heavy in my gut. “When is she doing this?”
“Tonight,” Lana answers. “She’s probably getting ready for her little voyeur gig as we speak.”
“I don’t know if this is—”
“Oh, shit! I gotta go!” Lana exclaims in a rush. “Cullen decided to take a Sharpie to the wall. I’ll text you about Wednesday! Kisses!” And then she’s gone.
Immediately, I tap the screen of my phone and pull up my texts with Monica to send her a message.
Me: Call me asap. I don’t think it’s a good idea to go to the Swan tonight.
I stare at the screen, waiting for a response, but before a new text comes in, my mom scares the ever-loving shit out of me.