Billionaire With a Twist 3 by Lila Monroe

Author:Lila Monroe [Monroe, Lila]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy, Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages)
Amazon: B015Y3NC20
Publisher: Lila Monroe Books
Published: 2015-09-27T18:30:00+00:00

EIGHT

“Ah, Miss Bartlett. How is that family of yours doing? Any developments in that…emergency of theirs?”

My boss peered at me over his glasses. He was trying to make me feel guilty for not divulging any more information than privacy laws said I had to. Was this just his normal brand of passive-aggression, or was he starting to get suspicious?

“Almost cleared up,” I said as brightly as I could. “Oh look, is that the time, I have to go update the company’s social media presence or everyone will think we’re dead, see you later!”

I fled as quickly as I could, hoping that the words ‘social media’ would have confused him enough to keep from following me.

The best way to keep my boss from asking questions had always been to start talking about something he knew nothing about; better to let the flighty young lady do her thing, he seemed to think, than to reveal he knew nothing about it.

I was back at work, and with Hunter prepping production on a new test batch of the Dixie brew, there was nothing for me to do back at the manor house. Well, I could have stood around admiring Hunter’s profile and simultaneously being bored silly by all the beer jargon he spouted like an overexcited fanboy, but somehow that seemed less productive than heading back to D.C. and catching up with all the work that had piled up for me in my absence (I didn’t think that Hunter’s red alert levels of hotness would qualify as an emergency my boss would be on board with).

Well, trying to catch up, anyway. Enough stuff had piled up in my absence that I was starting to think they’d made my cubicle into a trash can and forgotten to tell me.

No one had done any work on that tampon line while I was gone and the other woman in the office was out sick—too afraid of cooties, I guess—and the client was irate, threatening to take their business elsewhere. I tossed off some copy for it, no big deal—I could’ve done another tampon line in my sleep—and sent Sandra an e-mail outlining what they wanted in terms of art. That barely dented the pile of work, though—it seemed that while I was gone, I’d been designated everyone’s official paperwork monkey, and those forms weren’t going to file themselves.

Lost in the daydreamy reveries of self-filing paperwork and coworkers who actually did their own damn jobs, I was so busy that it wasn’t until my stomach rumbled and I looked up at the clock that I realized I’d managed to skip lunch. I looked at the pile of paper on my desk and decided that I couldn’t risk the time it would take to hop over to the Chinese joint across the street that did the really good chow mein—if I stepped away from this desk for more than five minutes, the paperwork would probably start reproducing.

Cafeteria vending machine it would have to be. Maybe if I was lucky

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