Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Oh, come on. I swallowed a sigh and answered.
“This is Andrea speaking.”
“Miss Stone, it’s me—Rachel!” she screamed. “I need your help and I need it now.”
“What’s going on?”
“I can’t find Mr. Cross’s notes for his chat with Hudson Business School.”
“Check his cloud.”
“He said he wants the version with your notes on it, and I didn’t upload that one,” she said. “I know it’s in his office or library somewhere, but I can’t find it and pleaseeee help so he won’t fire me.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can talk you through looking through a few places, but I’m off today.”
“Off?” she gasped. “He’s giving you special privileges?”
Shit… “No,” I said, sighing. “It was a joke, Rachel.”
“Ohhhh. Good one!” She laughed nervously. “Anyway, please help me. I’ll pay it back down the line, I swear.”
“I’m on my way.”
I shut my binder and decided to make this jaunt part of my lunch break.
Two hours max, Andrea. Two hours.
By the time I made it to the office, other interns were rushing around his office—looking in all the wrong places.
Walking to his desk, I unlocked his top drawer, then his private document case, and pulled it out.
“Here it is,” I said, holding it up. “You can take it.”
“Oh, wow, thanks!” Sophie smiled. “He gave you a key to his drawers?”
“Please go give him the files before he explodes on you.”
“Oh, right.” She rushed away, and I straightened his desk out of habit.
His laptop was still open and unlocked, with a drafted email.
To me.
I squinted to read it.
Dear Miss Stone,
Since I’ve generously given you the ENTIRE weekend off (with an additional day)… you can make up for it by completing the fifty things on my attached list.
Preferably by the end of Tuesday.
Ugh!
I slammed it shut, and the hourglass on his desk tipped and hit the floor.
I bent to pick it up—then stopped.
This stupid little hourglass had wreaked havoc on my life for months, and my fake off day wasn’t long enough to make me forget any of it…
I glared at its smooth glass body, rolling it back and forth between my hands.
Then I lifted it above my head and dropped it.
The crash echoed too loudly in the sterile room.
Sand spilled across the floor, useless now—time finally broken instead of breaking me.
Adrenaline surged through me, and I felt the need to ruin more.
I grabbed the metal holder and hurled it across the room. It slammed into the wall, leaving a dent in the pristine paint.
This feels too damn good…
I swept everything off his desk—files fanning through the air, pens clattering against marble, framed magazine covers shattering against the wall.
I grabbed his umbrella, flipped it over, and brought it down hard against the hourglass.
Again.
And again.
“Good evening, Miss Stone.” Mr. Cross’s deep voice froze me in place.
I was too stunned to move, so I mentally weighed my options. Run like hell. Pretend nothing happened. Stand perfectly still.
The last option won by default.
He stepped into the room, his face expressionless as he navigated around the wreckage. He bent, picked up the hourglass, brushed it off calmly, and placed it back on the desk—exactly where it belonged.
Then he looked at the rest of the damage.
Then at me.
“We need to talk,” he said. “I was planning to hold off on this until tomorrow, but let’s handle it now. Shall we?”
He led me into the conference room and took a seat at the table.
“Sit.”
I obliged, and he stared at me, his expression unreadable.
Then he leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the wood.
“Do you still hate your job?” he asked.
“Immensely.”
“Even with the raise?”
“The pay doesn’t change the pain…”
“Well, in that case, I’d like to offer you a new one,” he said. “One that I think you might love.”
“There’s a position called Being Free?”
“No.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “I’m talking about making you CFO.”
What? The world shifted and I held back a gasp.
I sat up a bit straighter, and as if he could tell he had my attention wrapped around his finger, he stared at me awhile before speaking again.
“In order to continue saving this company, we’ll need to bring on investors and go public,” he said. “But when you do that, you open everything up for scrutiny, and not having a CFO is a huge red flag.”
“So…” He picked up a contract and slid it to me. “What do you say?”
Hell yes. YES.
I flipped through the sheets, ready to ask for the pen, but something hit me.
“Wait a minute.” I shook my head. “What’s the catch?”
“I can’t believe you think there is one, Miss Stone.”
“What’s the salary?”
“It’s two hundred thousand more than what you’re currently making,” he said. “I’ll also throw in a better town car, if you like.”
I shook my head, still not buying it.
“Read through it for yourself.” He slid it to me again.
“I’ll have a lawyer look over it.”
“Mine already did. It’s safe.”