Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 755(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
“I should have her work on my mood board,” I told Elara as I lifted the various blouses and dresses from the tissue. “Your aunt has more style in her pinkie finger than I have in my entire body.”
Elara babbled and pulled a crinkly caterpillar down from the bed. The brightly colored bug began to play Mary Had a Little Lamb for the hundredth time that day.
“What was Auntie Phina thinking with this?” I lifted a lace thong out of the box then several more. “These must be for your father.”
Elara cooed and laughed and I bent forward to join the fun.
“Yes, they are! Because your daddy’s a big pervert who loves to rip off mommy’s undies!”
As soon as Mary Had a Little Lamb ended it started again. I needed to burn that toy.
The last box was full of tiny garments that looked sized for a small child. “What the hell is this?”
I tugged the industrial-grade spandex. The rubber-lined shapewear hardly stretched when I pulled it. No way this scuba gear was fitting over my ass. At the bottom of the box was another note.
“Just try it.” I grimaced at the shapewear and tossed the note back into the box. Then I shut the door and looked at Elara. “You never repeat what you're about to see here today. Got it?”
She cooed and I took that as agreement.
The next ten minutes passed with me slipping and sliding from the bed to the floor as I tried to squeeze too much blubber into too little material. The tight fabric had absolutely no give. A woman would have to be a contortionist to get into such a garment smoothly.
The undergarment only covered half of my belly and my boobs were bursting from whatever torture device this was. Glancing at the mirror was a mistake. I looked like a partially exploded can of biscuits.
I couldn’t get the thing off fast enough. But there was really no graceful way to quickly slip out of tight, rubber-lined clothes, so the exit was just as messy as the entrance.
When I finally pried it off and could breathe again, I collapsed onto the bed in a full sweat and panted. “Fuck that noise.”
Why was the fashion industry so dead set on women’s discomfort?
Over the next few days, I tried to get used to wearing thongs, but they felt like a constant wedgie. I was definitely more of a granny-panty kind of gal, and those lacey little slingshots were strictly for days when Hale was around. My sore ass was in full agreement.
I used the remaining time Hale was away to catch up on work. Remington had me reviewing reports for data leaks, and I had a term paper due for my finance course.
Pursuing my MBA gave me new insight at work. I wasn’t sure I’d ever chase the life of a tycoon, but Remington did offer a substantial raise if I earned my masters, so I figured why the hell not. Besides, I liked school.
I never would have picked a business degree for myself, but since working around the Davenports I discovered a lot of new interests. I now liked sex, playing the stock market, and sniffing out espionage—all things I never knew I enjoyed a year ago.
I didn’t know why Remington loved me enough to take an interest in my future. He’d been that way even before I’d gotten engaged to his son. And he certainly didn’t take such an interest in his other employees. But I was glad he did. I loved the grumpy old bastard and his interest made me feel important.
Sure, he still threw out insults and called me incompetent with the rest of them, but we also shared countless heart-to-hearts. I wasn’t even sure he shared his feelings with his children the way he sometimes shared with me.
I loved him too. We trusted each other, and I knew I could go to him with any problem and he’d fix it, even though I wasn’t supposed to do that anymore, on account of it really pissing Hale off.
Hale and his dad operated on a strange frequency of disapproval and acceptance, sort of like two magnets drawn together that could never touch. They were very similar, yet totally different.
Hale was selfless and loyal. Remington was self-serving and narcissistic. All of his children craved his approval, but the man rarely handed out praise. They’d deny it, but they all lingered in his orbit like a nest full of fledglings, mouths open and waiting for any crumbs of affection daddy might drop.
It was a sad sort of dysfunction, but the Davenports seemed incapable of operating any other way. I knew Remington loved his kids. He just didn’t know how to show it. Unfortunately, he had no such struggles expressing his disapproval, so things were always a little off-kilter.