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)
I grit my teeth to avoid snapping at her.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, sounding much calmer than I feel. “I just brought it up to Mr. D’Amico for review, along with—”
“And it didn’t even cross my desk first?” she asks incredulously.
Through sheer willpower I bite back a scoff.
“You’ve never asked to see it before.” I’ve been doing the risk analyses for her since I was still an intern, and she’s never once checked my work. I’d be flattered if I didn’t know she’s just too lazy to care. “Should I send them to you for approval in the future?”
“Watch your tone,” she snaps. “Don’t act all uppity just because I’m making sure you stay busy. Remember who’s in charge here, Morgan.”
She’s not keeping me busy; she’s making me do her entire fucking job for her, along with my own. Even with the added work, I still do a better job than she could ever hope to.
Instead of calling her out, I drop my eyes to my desk and nod. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure it goes to you first next time.”
Sloane scoffs, pushing away from my desk as she sends several sticky notes falling to the ground in her wake.
“Don’t bother,” she says drily. “Just get started on next quarter’s soon so it’s not late.”
It’s never been late when I’ve been the one working on it.
God, I want to scream.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Anyhow, I’m heading out early. Make sure you get the Fourneaux file reformatted like the client asked.”
She doesn’t even say goodbye before turning on her heel and marching off, the scent of designer perfume wafting in her wake.
I swallow down my bitterness and clear my mind of everything but work. Taylor may think I’m wasted on spreadsheets and crunching numbers, but I thrive here. Numbers and analytics are what keep me sane, especially when Sloane tries her hardest to get me to snap. I don’t want to spend an extra several hours at work most days, but at least it’s something that I enjoy doing.
If I had to answer phones all day, I’d wither away and die.
By the time I finally wrap up my own work for the day, the office is silent and dark around me. I realize with a wince that it’s already past seven. Now that I’m not staring at my computer, the aches are starting to set in. I stretch my arms over my head to work the worst of the tightness out.
A check of my phone shows a few messages from Taylor, but my notifications are dry as the desert. I sigh as a wave of disappointment washes over me at the fact that my masked suitor still hasn’t texted me. Maybe I should take Taylor’s advice and just text the guy. If he doesn’t answer, I’ll delete his number and call it quits.
I pack up as my mind races about what to say.
Taylor’s right about guys liking bold women, and I can play at it, but that’s not me. I’m a wallflower if there ever was one, and the thought of pretending to be anything but makes me nauseous.
Even if he did like it, I couldn’t keep up the act for long, and then he’d lose interest anyway.
I toss my messenger bag over my shoulder and head toward the elevator, flipping the last light off as I go. Maybe it’d be better to just delete his number now and save myself the stress.
My phone buzzes in my pocket just as I step into the elevator. I tug it out, expecting a text from Taylor, only to choke on my own surprise. My heart skips a beat at the notification staring up at me. I pinch my thigh to make sure I’m not dreaming.
Mister Mystery: Hello there, Miss Morgan. Did you miss me?
CHAPTER 3
NICK
Running a business isn’t easy, but it does have its perks. One of them is watching my pretty little analyst work any time of the day I want.
Never have I taken an interest in the women in my building. There’s something about her… and fuck if I don’t want to be dangerous for her.
Leaning back in the plush black leather rolling chair in my office, I lift the crystal glass of whiskey to my lips. Money has always been able to buy me anything. Connections, cars, my home, and the lavishly decorated office I’m currently sitting in. Though, I will admit the sleek black and white modern look to it isn’t entirely my taste. It’s my mother’s.
The one thing money hasn’t been able to buy me is her.
At least not yet.
Staring at the large computer screen in front of me, Riley maneuvers around her desk collecting her things before flicking off the lights by her cubicle. She’s smart; that much I knew the moment I met her. What I haven’t figured out yet is why she has allowed herself all these years to hide behind her work.