Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 114(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 76(@300wpm)
“Good morning, Miss Stone,” James Calloway says, his voice deep. “How are you on this lovely Monday morning?”
“I’d be a lot better if my sworn enemy wasn’t sitting in my favorite chair.”
“In addition to damaging my tires and messing with my coffee, your assistant also stuck super glue inside my office lock.” He stands up, keeping his eyes on mine. “Aren’t you going to ask her about that?”
I say nothing as he nears me, and I resist inhaling his sexy cologne.
“I thought you were bigger than this, Miss Stone.” He tries to sound like the bigger person. “With so much on the line, I could’ve sworn we agreed not to play games with each other anymore.”
“Was that before or after you locked me out of this building for an entire weekend?”
“After.” He pulls a pink “Good luck” card from his jacket and holds it out for me. “For the record, I wish you all the luck in the world.”
“That’s the last thing I want from you.”
“What’s the first?”
“Your death.”
He lets out a low laugh, and I hate my body for warming all over as if this man isn’t the reason I fly into a rage multiple times a week.
“Um…” Eliza clears her throat. “Do you still want me to fuck up Mr. Calloway’s dry cleaning? Since he’s already here, I don’t think it’s worth it.”
“You can go ahead and do that, Miss Eliza.” James narrows his eyes at me. “I haven’t even begun to get my staff started on Miss Stone this week.”
“Okay, enough you two!” David Waldman, the CFO, steps into the room. “How old are you?”
“He thinks he’s seventeen,” “She still believes she’s a teenager,” we answer in unison.
“So, you’re both children.” He groans. “As talented as you two are, you need to grow the hell up. Starting today.”
“Yes, sir,” we say, again in unison.
“Walk away from each other.”
We don’t move.
“Now.”
We remain still.
“Focus on your afternoon meeting with Mr. Adeleman.” Mr. Waldman grabs James by the hand and pulls him away. “May God help the rest of us…”
Later that afternoon, I slide my files into my folder and take a deep breath before heading to the elevator.
This promotion is mine. All mine…
The doors glide open, revealing James standing alone.
I consider letting him go up by himself, but letting him get there first may not be a good impression.
Stepping inside, I move across from him.
As the car rises, we stare at our reflections in the mirrored glass.
“Off the record,” he says, “you look beautiful today, Taryn.”
I ignore him.
“I like it when you wear your hair up like that.”
“Stop talking to me.”
“Is that a new dress?”
Yes. I bite my lip and focus on the climbing numbers above us.
“Regardless of what happens today, I think you’re brilliant.”
“Your compliments won’t make me hate you any less.” I finally snap. “And if you think that five seconds of flattery will make me forget how much you’ve tried to sabotage me since I started working here, it won’t.”
“Sabotage you by being a better marketer?”
“Thanks for reminding me why I was ignoring you.” I press the floor button repeatedly, as if that’ll make this ride go any faster.
“Is that a hickey on your neck?” James leans closer.
“Maybe.”
“Since when are you dating someone?”
The doors open before I can tell him to mind his business.
If we were on friendlier terms, I’d tell him the truth about losing a fight with my curling iron this morning.
“Someone special wanted to kiss me for good luck.”
“I see.” He clenches his jaw. “How nice.”
“It was.” I step off first, feeling him right behind me.
“Well good afternoon!” Mr. Adeleman greets us in his office. “Come on in and have a seat on my brand-new couch!”
James and I exchange glances.
Mr. Adeleman hasn’t had furniture in his office for years. The only things in this room are a bean bag and a freezer. The latter is where he keeps a personal collection of popsicles.
There’s also a floor-length picture of him from his younger days, a sharp contrast to the frail grey-haired man standing before us today.
“You know, it’s not every day that I’m making a decision on who will step into my shoes.” He pauses. “I wear a size eleven in shoes, you know? They don’t make good leather shoes like they used to.”
I force a smile, bracing for one of his long, rambling stories.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about my company,” he says. “It’s called Magnolia Marketing. I named it after my favorite tree…My favorite tree is a magnolia, you know?”
We say nothing.
We just stare at him.
“Well, Mr. Calloway and Miss Stone,” he says. “I’m sure you want me to get to the point, so I won’t make you wait. I’m very happy with the work you both…”
His sentence hangs in the air unfinished, and he stands still for several seconds with his mouth hanging open.