Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
I’m happy with his regular women because I know that he sees them just as that…. regulars. But every time he meets someone new, I panic a little, this could be the woman whom he finally falls in love with.
As well as acting, another job I excel at is an undercover detective. I know who he is sleeping with before he does.
“Well, you don’t have long for lunch, you have to be back at the office at 1.30 for a very important meeting.” I focus on the screen.
“Cancel it.”
“Impossible.” I keep typing and try to change the subject. “Who am I sending flowers to today?”
“Hmm.” He purses his lips as he thinks. “Melissa.”
“The card reading?” I act uninterested.
“You were incredible last night.”
I clench my teeth so hard I nearly break my jaw. “Is that it?”
“Umm.” He walks over to the window and looks down over New York. “Come away with me this weekend.”
My eyes linger on his back as sadness sets in.
I can’t do this anymore.
Every time I send one of his girls flowers or gifts, I die a little inside.
I’m thirty-two years old and for seven years I have hung off Gabriel Ferrara’s every word, waiting for him to notice me.
Waiting for even a scrap of his attention, for him to admit his undying love and sweep me off my feet.
But it’s never going to happen, is it?
He doesn’t see me like that, he is never going to see me like that.
I run through the rest of his day on autopilot, my mind off in another place, and I know that while he is away with Melissa this weekend, I will be at home wishing the time away until Monday so that I can see him again. So that I can be a personal assistant to his full and exciting life.
Pathetic.
“What are you waiting for?” he snaps.
I glance up, huh? Was he talking?
“I beg your pardon?” I ask.
He gestures toward his door, “Leave, I have work to do.”
“Oh… right.” I stand embarrassed, I walk toward the door.
“Gracie,” he calls, and I turn back to him.
“Yes.”
“Don’t wear that perfume again.”
I frown in confusion.
“I don’t like it.”
I bite my lip to hold my tongue and make my way out of his office. I take a seat at my desk, deflated.
He doesn’t like my perfume.
Well, fuck him!
I do, asshole, and I’m going to slather it all over myself tomorrow until he throws up.
I might even spray it in his eyes for added effect.
One by one, the office fills up and then like clockwork, right at nine, his office door opens, and he marches out like the king of the people.
Gabriel Ferrara in all his bossy glory.
“Maria,” he barks.
“Yes, sir,” she stammers.
“Why isn’t the advertising report in my email?”
“I… I…”
“You what?”
“I haven’t finished it yet, I thought you didn’t need it until tomorrow.”
“You thought wrong.” He strides through the office and stops in front of Allen’s desk and his eyes roam over it. “Why does your desk look like a fucking dumpster fire, Allen?”
“Ahhh.” Allen begins to nervously collect the coffee cups and stacked papers. “Sorry, Mr. Ferrara. I’ll clean it now.”
Gabriel glances up and his eyes meet mine, he strides back to my desk. “Miss Porter.” He calls me Miss Porter in front of everyone, I’m only ever Gracie in private.
“Cancel my 1:30 appointment,” he demands.
He wants to extend his lunch date with fucking Veronica.
“Impossible Mr. Ferrara, I told you that already. Please listen,” I fire back.
You have one hour with her, mother fucker.
That’s it.
“Then you can go in my place because I won’t be at the meeting.” He marches back into his office and slams the door.
The staff all let out a collective sigh of relief that the tyrant is gone, I tap my pen on the desk while my blood boils.
Asshole.
The sun shines down on me as I sit in the park, my lunch break is the best part of my day. I love the fresh air, watching the dogs play off-leash and the birds fly around. I never realized how much I love nature until I hardly see any. As beautiful as New York is, it’s the city of concrete.
When I moved here seven years ago, I was going to work for twelve months, get some experience with a big firm and then move back to the suburbs somewhere.
Being infatuated with my jerk of a boss was never in the plan.
A dog runs up to me, and I bend and pat him, he’s big and brown. “Hey there, cutey.” I smile as I pat him.
His owner walks up, he’s in running gear and all sweaty. “He likes you.”
“I like him.” I smile.
“Do you have a dog?” the guy asks.
“No, I wish.” I keep ruffing up the dog’s ears. “What’s his name?”
“Bernard.”
I giggle, “Hello, Bernard.”
“You should get a dog,” the guy tells me.