Total pages in book: 166
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 802(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
“I’m not going to bullshit you, Camryn. The coughers have depleted drastically these past few months. It might come as a shock to you—”
“Nothing comes as a shock to me anymore, Jeff.”
“The directors have been drawing dividends like they’re going out of fashion these past few weeks.”
Past few weeks? “By directors, I’m assuming you mean Barbara and Anthony specifically.”
“Yes. Have you seen the bank statements?”
“For the holding account? No. I run my eye over the current running accounts daily, but the holding accounts statements land the thirtieth of the month, since the activity is minimal.”
“Not so minimal at the moment. The ship is going to sink if you don’t repair the leaks.”
I rest my arse on the edge of the desk. “I feel like I’m fighting a losing battle.”
“Why are you still there, Camryn?”
I blink, frowning. “What?”
“A woman of your calibre. Why haven’t you walked?”
Because I need this job. “I like the challenge,” I quip, and he laughs. “Look, Jeff, the important question is, can TF Shipping afford these tax bills?”
“Yes, but it’ll wipe them out.”
“No more filler on the business for Barbara,” I singsong quietly.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I sigh. “Thanks for shining your Friday rays of sunshine on me.” I hang up and tap the desk by my butt with my phone, seriously wondering if I’m up for another battle today. I feel like I’m trying to wrangle wild horses.
And where the hell is my coffee? I swing the door open and find Debbie on the phone. I scowl at her as I pass. “I’ll get my own, or I’ll die of caffeine deficiency.”
She looks about as impressed as a cow seeing a McDonald’s truck pull up on the farm. “Sorry,” she says, her hand over the receiver.
“No sweat,” I mutter to myself. “I wanted to stretch my legs anyway.” And duck and dive through the grotto. I frown at a twinkling snowman as I pass. Is she still adding shit to the already jammed corridor? “My God,” I murmur, passing a wooden shed that’s been sprayed with artificial snow.
The smell of caffeine hits me when I push the door to the kitchen open, and see Crystal pouring eggnog into cups. “Making up for the few days you couldn’t make it into the office, are you?”
She flashes me a tight smile as I pull a cup down, but it falters when she clocks my cheek. She doesn’t ask, though. It’s a small mercy. No one will ask, except Debbie, of course. “Want some?”
“Eggnog? No.” I take the percolator and pour. “You shouldn’t be gossiping about Thomas and what you hear him saying on his private calls.” Looking out the corner of my eye, I see her still mid-pour, her mind obviously racing.
“Sure you don’t want any?” She grabs a cup and thrusts it my way with a cheesy—guilty—smile.
I take my coffee and hold it up, seeing a Panettone and some cute little Father Christmas cupcakes. “Sure,” I say, slowly lifting my coffee to my lips. I blink, getting a snapshot of me in the kitchen of my old home, icing sugar everywhere. Slade yelling from the Alexa. Mulled wine simmering on the stove.
“Sure you do, or sure you don’t?”
I retreat from the flashback and frown at Crystal. “What?” My eyes drop to the cup hovering between us. “I said no.” Someone breezes into the kitchen, spots me, and performs a quick about-turn, heading straight back out. “Thomas,” I call, going after him.
“Sorry, just remembered I’m late for a call.”
It’s quite an achievement in these heels, but I somehow manage to overtake him and block his path. Thomas recoils and peeks above my head, and I follow his line of sight and see a bunch of mistletoe dangling from the ceiling above us. “Why would you even allow that?” I ask, reaching up and yanking it down. “You’re begging for a sexual harassment lawsuit.”
“Hey, wait a minute, I wasn’t suggesting—”
“I’m talking in general, Thomas.” He’s wary of me, like most people around here, so I’m safe from being caught under the mistletoe unexpectedly.
“What the hell’s happened to your face?”
“I fell over walking home.” I resist my natural instinct to reach up and cover it from his questioning eyes. “I just got off the phone with Jeff. We need—”
“Grandpa!” The screech hits my eardrums and rattles them, and Thomas is quickly gone from in front of me, being tackled by a young girl, maybe fourteen.
“Marcy,” he sings, catching her in his arms and hugging her.
“Hey, Dad,” a lady says, pulling off her gloves, her pink lips stretched wide.
“Gail.” Thomas sighs, as if he’s relieved to see her, keeping Marcy to his chest, all bundled up in her fleece, scarf, and hat, while opening his other arm for his daughter. She walks straight into it. “Where’s Curtis?”
“Just parking the rental car. I thought we were leaving the snow behind in Colorado!”