Dirty Nasty Billionaire (Part One) by Paige North

Author:Paige North [North, Paige]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Favor Ford Publishing
Published: 2018-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 3

I spend the rest of the day alternating between praying they don’t fire me and wanting to quit and bolt for the door. Which doesn’t make for a great situation when I’m trying to do my very best work and impress everyone in the room. So far all I’ve done is convince everyone else in the room that I’m radioactive.

Also, completely inept.

“Um, Delaney?” Amber says, her voice all syrupy sweet. She holds up a stack of documents fresh off the printer. “Why do all these FOIA requests say 2118 on them? Last time I checked, it was impossible to request financial documents from the future.”

“Shit,” I mutter, doing a quick CTRL+F search on my laptop to see that, yep, I made that particular mistake a good twenty-seven times. What is wrong with me?

Probably a winning combination of my missing orgasm and my big mouth.

“Sorry,” I say. “I can fix it, one sec.”

“Actually, I already took care of it,” she says. She sounds like she’s talking to a kindergartener, and the sickly-sweet smile on her face tells me it’s 100% intentional. She doesn’t even consider me competition anymore. I’m simply someone to be managed. Tolerated. Maybe even ignored. She wrinkles her nose at me. “Why don’t you go take a break, ok?”

Why don’t you shove it up your tight little ass? Is what I want to say — which is what I would say — if I hadn’t given Amber the upper hand on a silver platter. In any other circumstance I’d clap back at her so hard her teeth would rattle. But today I can’t seem to muster even a speck of confidence. I’m just the girl who can’t have an orgasm, after all.

I suck in a breath to avoid the tears that I know are just seconds away, and nod. I push back from the table, and soundlessly slink out the door.

My first instinct is to go hide in the bathroom for a while, maybe even let myself have the good cry I know is coming. But as I pass the break room, I notice it’s empty. And there’s a display of snacks that rivals the 7/11 at the end of my block. Instead of a good cry, maybe a good sugar binge will do the trick.

I step into the gleaming white room, marveling at the white marble counter tops and stainless-steel appliances, but also shivering at the sterile nature of the room, of the entire building. Nothing about Scour is meant to make you feel comfortable. I wonder again if it’s a productivity strategy, if this is how they’ve managed to overtake the entire tech industry in under a decade.

The fridge in the corner is the size of a Cadillac. A touch-screen the size of an iPad displays an endless scroll of tweets from the company feed. I pull it open and grab a can of Coke, pausing for a moment in front of the frigid air that bursts out. Maybe this will help me stop fucking sweating.

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