Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Taylor has never failed me before.
This isn’t just exhaustion or burnout stretching me thin like usual. I’m pretty torn up even now that I’ve calmed down a bit. I don’t know what could possibly take my mind off this long enough for me to actually reset and relax properly.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask, my voice still shaky but more solid as I dab the tears away from the corners of my eyes.
“Do you feel up for going out?” she asks, a thread of excitement in her voice. “My friend got invited to this private auction thing, but she and her husband can’t make it, so she gave me the tickets. It’s a super exclusive club. You usually have to fill out a ton of forms and an application, and they only accept, like, five percent of applicants or something. They’re fundraising for survivors of sexual assault. And there are going to be so many people there.”
I nearly groan at the suggestion—another upscale cocktail party is absolutely not what I want to be dealing with right now, but it will, unfortunately, distract me.
At least I know what to expect from events like this.
Champagne, fancy finger foods, and self-important stories from people I’ll never talk to again. Honestly, the more I consider it, the more relaxing the thought of it is.
I won’t have a single second to think about my feelings about work if I go to this.
“I don’t exactly have the bank account to participate in an auction,” I say with a soft laugh.
Taylor sees it for the platitude it is and pushes right past it.
“Then just enjoy the drinks and make fun of people’s stupid stories with me,” she teases. “It’ll be fun, and it’s for a good cause. Come on, say yes.”
I snicker into my phone, rolling my eyes and feeling just a little lighter.
The promise of a drink or two and a heaping dose of distraction is enough to wear any thought of rejection away. Plus, it’ll probably exhaust me enough that I’ll be able to get some sleep tonight instead of staying up and worrying. Not that I’ve ever not worried about something.
Socializing always drains me.
“Pushy,” I joke, a resigned sigh following the word. “Fine. I just have to let Nick know that I’m taking the rest of the day off. It’s not like I have any more meetings today anyways. Text me the details, I’ll be home shortly.”
“Yes!” Taylor cheers. “I’ll meet you at yours. Drive safe.”
“Always,” I agree before we say our goodbyes and hang up.
I’ve never been the type of girl to just cut out on work early, but after the shit I’ve been through over the past week, I need it. Plus, it’s Friday. What happened to corporations having half-days on Fridays?
I’m either going to wholly regret agreeing to all of this or I’m going to have the night of my life.
Three guesses which.
CHAPTER 11
NICK
Idrum my fingers impatiently against my desk after sending off my fifth email of the hour.
Riley left the office almost an hour and a half ago, and at first when I was told, annoyance filled me. To think that she just left and didn’t even bother to tell me she was going. Instead she chose to call my assistant, as if telling me herself was unacceptable. I shouldn’t have left the office early to work from home today.
Regardless, if she had an appointment, I can’t blame her.
Though I am surprised. I know everything that happens in her life and I don’t recall hearing about any upcoming appointments in her calendar. Something I’ll have to discuss with my PI later.
Not long after she left, I went home expecting the usual text update from her that she sends when she gets home, but nothing’s come in yet.
The last text I got from her was right after we wrapped up our meeting this morning—and God, am I brilliant for insisting on one-on-one meetings every week. It’s not like I don’t keep up with her work daily, even when I have better things to be doing, but I’ll take any excuse to be alone with her.
I can’t be blamed, not when she walks around all prim and proper in those little pencil skirts that make me want to ruin her. Going over her progress from the week while she looked at me from behind those sweet glasses, nearly vibrating in her seat at every bit of praise, is the sweetest torture imaginable.
I want to make her sit on my cock during one of those meetings and see just how put-together she is then.
My phone stays stubbornly dark no matter how harshly I glare at it, so I resign myself to sending off yet another email just to keep my hands busy. This is the most work I’ve done on a Friday night since I first started the company. Can’t say I’m enjoying it.